I'll take a side of solitude

I think I was born with a solitude gene. Most of the world finds solitude strange and unsettling. Part of that has to do with confusing being alone with being lonely, but when you've made the choice yourself, the first state shares no part of the second.

My penchant for alone-time may be a function of my activities and lifelong interests, most of which are solitary in nature: practicing an instrument, reading, writing, photography (which at one time included stretches of hours alone in a darkroom), researching in the bowels of a library, working on websites, countless time spent daydreaming and lollygagging.

When I was younger, I was loathe to acknowledge that I enjoyed being by myself, but not anymore! Over the last several years, I've grown into a self-awareness and self-confidence never experienced before. I'm not sure whether this development has anything to do with being female and the ceaseless cycles of hormonal upheavals that we undergo. I think for many men, self-image is deeply tied to images of virility and potency and as this diminishes with age, so does their sense of self, whereas for many women, the loss of fertility as we age comes as a welcome relief (particularly for those who've had a few kids). Sometimes, I think women (freed from the usual societal expectations and roles) age into confidence, while men, with diminishing power, strength of youth, etc, age out of it.

Though time alone means I'm hanging with someone I like a lot, the reality is that my days are rich with the company and companionship of a variety of people whom I respect, admire, and adore (you know who you are). Because of them, and the varied gifts they bring, I find that when I do get time by myself, music is sweeter, words flow more readily, food tastes better, dreams are more vivid, and a sense of contentment prevails.