“Solitude is not the  
absence of love,  
but its complement.”   
Paulo Coelho

For most of my life, I have been energized by being around other people. I am fairly outgoing by nature, and I enjoy being part of moderately-sized groups where conversation, laughter, and shared experiences create a sense of connection. I also spent my entire career interacting with people all day, every day. Being with others was not simply part of my work; it became part of the rhythm of my life.

Retirement has introduced me to another rhythm—the unexpected gift of intentional self-isolation.

There is an important difference between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness can leave us feeling disconnected and forgotten. Solitude, when freely chosen, can create the quiet space in which we reconnect with ourselves. As Paulo Coelho observed, “If you are never alone, you cannot know yourself.” When the voices and expectations of others grow quiet, I sometimes hear more clearly the questions stirring within my own heart.

Carl Sandburg captured this beautifully: “It is necessary for a man to go away by himself, to sit on a rock and ask, ‘Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?’” These questions seem particularly meaningful in retirement. After decades of schedules, responsibilities, meetings, classrooms, and conversations, solitude provides an opportunity for me to reflect upon where I have been while discerning where I may still be called to go.

I am also discovering that being alone does not necessarily mean being lonely. Irini Zoica offers wonderful advice: “Be so fulfilled with yourself that even when you are alone you feel in good company.” Learning to enjoy my own company has become one of retirement’s quiet blessings.

Perhaps that is why Gabriel García Márquez wrote, “The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.” Such a pact does not require withdrawing permanently from the world. For me, it means occasionally stepping away from its noise so that I can return refreshed, centered, and more grateful for the people in my life.

Robin Williams offered an important reminder: “I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.” I’ve been there, so these words by Robin Williams resonate with me.

I still need people. I still treasure friendships, conversation, community, and laughter. But I am learning that I also need periods when the room grows quiet and I am left with myself. In those moments, solitude does not empty my life. It nurtures my soul.