The Gift of Solitude

In a world that constantly demands our attention, finding time to be alone has become an act of self-preservation — and even courage.

Solitude: Riding my gravel bike in the Cederberg

The philosopher Paul Tillich captured this so perfectly when he wrote:

“Our language has wisely sensed these two sides of man's being alone. It has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone, and it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”

Solitude is not isolation — it is an intentional turning inward. It is the space we create to listen to our inner voice, to soften the noise of our environment, and to reconnect with who we are beneath the demands, distractions, and expectations of everyday life.

Jay Shetty, in his book 8 Rules of Love, reminds us:

“If you don’t go within, you will go without.”

We cannot truly know what we want or need if we don’t take the time to sit with ourselves — in stillness, in silence, in presence.

For me, solitude often happens in the saddle. When I ride alone, especially in nature, I’m not running from the world — I’m running toward myself. The rhythm of the pedals, the sound of my breath, the wind on my face — all of it brings me home to the present moment. It’s in those quiet hours that I hear my thoughts clearly, feel my emotions deeply, and remember what truly matters in life.

Solitude gives us the space to check in with our values, our dreams, our direction. It helps us make decisions from a place of clarity, not chaos.

It allows us to reset, realign, and reemerge feeling more grounded and whole.

So, the next time the world feels too loud — step away.

Go for a walk.

Sit by the ocean.

Ride into the hills.

Be alone, not in loneliness, but in the glory of solitude.

Because in solitude, we meet ourselves.

And in meeting ourselves, we begin to truly live.