I was recently introduced to the twentieth-century author and poet May Sarton by none other than ChatGPT. Just this week, I received her celebrated book, Journal of Solitude, and came across this passage on its opening page:
I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my “real life” again at last. This is what is strange—that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life unless there is time alone in which to explore and discover what is happening or has happened.
This passage immediately struck me, echoing a point I’ve pondered often: What is most real in life? It also brought to mind many reader responses to our recent survey on meaning and personality—responses that affirmed that what feels “most real” or meaningful can vary dramatically according to the individual and their personality type.
Where Does “Real Life” Reside?
For Sarton—clearly an intuitive, introverted type—what feels most real and meaningful isn’t her relationships or experiences per se, but her reflection on those experiences. She acknowledges that life would be “arid” without love or connection, but sees them as incomplete unless given the space to be fully digested. Solitude is the sacred ground where real life happens. “I taste it fully,” she writes, “only when I am alone.” One reader expressed a similar sentiment: “When I’m writing or drawing, I feel like I remember who I am.”
Many of you have also shared how the pace and pressure of modern life can erode your sense of meaning. When we’re buried in obligations or overstimulated by noise and distraction, it becomes almost impossible to access the deeper reality Sarton speaks of. Modern life can leave sensitive, introspective types feeling like prisoners—physically, mentally, emotionally—cut off from the silence in which something more essential or meaningful might surface.
In The Creative Introvert, I argue that carving out time and space is really only the first step toward reclaiming this deeper reality. The second, and more difficult step, involves cultivating inner freedom—learning to navigate the swirl of demands, concerns, and accusations that persist even in solitude.
While solitude may seem like an obvious cure for whatever ails introspective types, it turns out to be more demanding than we expect. We assume that once we’ve withdrawn from the world, our deepest needs will be met, as if by magic. But many of us discover, often with some dismay, that the voices we hoped to escape—those of fear, pressure, and judgment—have simply followed us in. Even in perfect silence, we aren’t yet free. Sarton describes this predicament powerfully:
My need to be alone is balanced against my fear of what will happen when suddenly I enter the huge empty silence if I cannot find support there… In the back of my mind is a clamor of voices, too many needs, hopes, and fears. I hardly ever sit still without being haunted…
The Challenge of Double Confusion
In The Dark Night of the Soul, philosopher Manly P. Hall echoes Sarton’s observations, highlighting the confusion and struggles that emerge both inwardly and outwardly:
The confusion of his outer life moves in upon him, affecting his attitudes and thoughts… He turns within and does not find the concord he desires and needs… He is a confused being…unable to depend on the things around him or the power within him.
When both our inner and outer lives feel disordered, we experience what Hall calls double confusion. In this state, even our best attempts to withdraw or reflect are haunted by unease. And so we turn, understandably, to distractions or quick comforts—food, sex, entertainment, substances—anything to buffer the discomfort. These can buy us time, but we know they won’t suffice as a long-term solution.
Cultivating Our Inner Terrain
We intuitively sense that to live a truly meaningful life, we need to go deeper. We need to cultivate the inner terrain that can support the kind of clarity and insight we long for.
And just like a garden, our inner world needs attention: it must be weeded, watered, fed.
Here are a few questions worth considering:
- How long can you be alone without reaching for distraction?
- Can you sit quietly and simply be present with yourself?
- Do you ever take a solitary walk without headphones or media?
- Can you allow your mind and body to settle and be still—even for a moment?
Peace and stillness aren’t the only goals. But unless we learn how to tend the soil of our inner life, the meaning we seek will continue to elude us.
Not Sure Where to Start?
Start small. Try one of these:
- Find a quiet place. Turn off your phone. Set a timer for three minutes. Sit in a chair, close your eyes, and simply attend to your breathing.
- Or: do the same, but write down whatever comes to mind—freely, without judgment—for three minutes.
Try one of these every day for a week. Then let us know what you discovered. We’d love to hear from you.
May this week offer you a moment of stillness—and something meaningful in the silence.
