Solitude; not Isolation

For National Recovery Month--let's explore the difference

Hello friends and readers. It’s another Friday and it’s September which is National Recovery Month. Here’s another mixed post of old and new for your review and enjoyment today. I explore the value of solitude and the difference between it and isolation—which is endemic to people in the throes of addiction. People in late-stage addictive behaviors nearly always end up completely alone—having rejected help from friends and concerned loved ones. Loneliness—often accompanied by the feeling of giving up or even suicidal ideation—and complete isolation. It’s not a nice place to be. I’ve been there—with the exception of suicidal ideation—and I’m not there anymore after nearly 15 years of clean and sober. I’m well connected and well engaged.

Enjoy today’s riff.

---

Standing atop a 14,000 peak in Colorado is transformative. The state has 58 peaks that exceed 14,000 feet above sea level. There is some debate among enthusiasts about what truly constitutes bagging a 14er. Many would say that as many as twenty-eight peaks do not technically qualify because they don’t rise more than a few hundred feet above an adjoining saddle or adjacent peak. I’ll let that argument lie where it is. It’s irrelevant to today’s discussion. Most native Coloradans and many visitors have bagged a 14er or two in their day. It’s a common weekend adventure in summer months to jump in the car with several friends and the necessary equipment for a long day trip, and head up one of the many ranges in the state that are home to these peaks. Many of them allow access via paved state roads to trails of varying lengths taking you up. Some are easy photo opportunities with a minimal hike from the parking lot and trailhead. Others require quite a bit more planning and preparation. I’ve done it both ways—with friends, and alone with a trusty 4-legged companion. The sense of smallness and perspective is unmatched.

Humans are social creatures. We thrive in families, tribes, gangs, patrols, teams, and communities. We are offered safety, support, and comfort in groups. That said, many psychologists, experts, and authors who have explored the topic indicate that “aloneness” is equally important to humans as relationships and social interactions. Many of us struggle with being alone, finding it boring, lonely, or filled with FOMO or anxiety. Others crave solitude but can’t find the time or space for it. Prison officials going back centuries determined that there was no crueler form of punishment than solitary confinement.

If solitude is an important and positive element of human life, then why is loneliness such a problem. Loneliness is epidemic to such a degree that the U.S. Surgeon General made a public report on May 13th, 2023 that loneliness is a public health crisis. Clearly the relationship between solitude and loneliness is tenuous at best and completely disconnected at worst.

What part does isolation play in this complicated equation, or can a person actually be lonely in a crowd?

As I seek answers, I need to look to my own experience before, during, and since the transformative process of getting clean and sober nearly 15 years ago. I’ve always been an extroverted and extremely social person. In my youth there were many times when I felt lonely in a crowd. We moved residences…we moved states…heck we moved across the entire country several times between the ages of 4 and 14. From California, the state of my birth, to Texas, back to California, to Connecticut, and to Missouri. Eight different schools before 9th grade. My Dad was busy building a career. Mom was busy raising my two younger brothers and me. It was up to me to say quick goodbyes to my friends and classmates as we were leaving one place and then make entirely new relationships in the school and community my parents had chosen as our home. Sports helped a lot. I was gifted with athletic talent at a young age. As the new kid I would get picked last when teams were chosen—for the first day anyway. Soon I would be picked among the first. It’s true that kids are incredibly adaptable, but I always had a mild sense that the earth was moving underneath me. Not mature enough to understand the concept of the temporary nature of things, yet intuitive enough to know that I could say whatever I wanted to or make up whatever story I wanted about the last place I’d been. It’s where I learned to lie. There was no internet to fact-check me. We were kids playing and it didn’t matter to anyone, so I just made shit up. Mostly it worked, so I got better at it. If I was ever close to getting caught in a lie, we’d probably be gone soon anyway.

Wherever I was at that moment in time, I knew it probably couldn’t last. That pattern served me well as I grew into an adult. One of my favorite things about being an adult was the ability to bounce to a new place—a new group—a new gig.

Because now I was in charge of busting the move.

My business career epitomized that upon proper reflection. I had three distinct careers in wildly different industries. Stock and investment brokerage, television and event production, and software entrepreneurship. Each of them involved telling stories and a shit-ton of travel. I thrived because they were all fast-moving and the isolation of business travel suited me just fine. My romantic relationships reflected that mentality as well. Although I have parents with 65 years of marriage, and two brothers with 30+ each, I was the serial monogamist. At some point no matter how good the relationship was—there always came a time to bounce.

For me, solitude was always a place where I felt more grounded. No one could pull the rug out from under me. Only I could do that. Bring in the walls and close the doors and neener neener you can’t get me. Oddly I never felt a sense of loneliness. I’m sure I often was, but it didn’t register in my conscious mind. There was, however, a hole to fill. Which segues us nicely into my substance use story. My pattern was always as a social drinker who just didn’t honor the stop sign. When normies would call it a night, I was always up for more. Usually, I’d finish at home. Particularly at the end—I’d have a couple with the gang after work to take the edge off and be social, then leave to start the serious activity of communing with Johnnie Walker at home. Alone.

Those who understand addiction will already know this. Whether it’s booze or drugs or anything else, it’s not about the substance. The substance is used as a coping mechanism. People drink to take the edge off. To relax. To socialize with friends.

It works—really well—or why else would we do it?

The personality I have makes it impossible for me to say, that’s enough, which is what most people are able to do. For those of us who can’t say enough, isolation becomes the destination at the end of the using journey. For me, I was making a choice to be alone. That was exacerbated by the natural outcome of my alcoholic behavior. I was comfortable alone, so why fight it if that’s where I ended up anyway? Twisted logic I know, but there it is.

Separation is another interesting phenomenon that alcoholics struggle with. It is said that we struggle with terminal uniqueness. I never quite got that until I got it. Of course I’m unique.

I’m different than all of the millions of others who have taken this path and died or gone crazy or ended up in prison.

Of course I am. It was only in sobriety and ongoing recovery that I was clear-headed enough and willing to really dig into the work of understanding myself better. I began to recognize that this separation was something I’d always felt. Part of it had come from being a boy named Dee. Part of it from moving around a lot and always being “the new kid in town.” Part of it because of the talent I was blessed with and the resulting expectations. All of it played a part. One of the key things we learn in recovery is that we’re not that unique. We’re actually just run-of-the-mill drunks behaving just exactly like many before us. That community is what begins to heal us.

Look, I’m not assigning blame to my parents, or blaming the way I grew up. I’m proud of who I am and where I come from. I love and respect my mother and father—they both represent an incredible American success story for me to perhaps outline in another essay. People don’t always become alcoholics or addicts because of their families or their upbringings. It is much more complicated than that. Certainly, unresolved trauma from our childhood can play a part. Unresolved is the operative word here. I did not have any sense of being traumatized or lonely as a kid. The opposite is true—I was surrounded by friends, family, and opportunities my entire life. But just because I didn’t consciously feel it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. Trauma (however you choose to define it) lives in the ancient memory of the body. It was only in my recovery that I’ve been able to understand these feelings and memories and deal with them. Now that I have healthier relationships with my loved ones, my family, and my friends, I can see what was unhealthy about that. back. there. then.

The entire nation was traumatized for a couple of years during the pandemic. There was a myriad of responses. Some people panicked. The fear has become their unresolved trauma. Others denied it. Some people isolated and never reconnected. A lot of people lost loved ones and friends and grieved. Trauma. All of us are still dealing with it in ways we’re not consciously aware of. Free-floating anxiety. It’s no fucking wonder that loneliness is a major issue right now. Higher rates of alcoholism. More overdoses and suicides. Kids who were already addicted to their phones dove even deeper into shallow and false social media relationships. Teens acting out in the streets. Covid and the exponentially worse response to it put a generational beating on us. It still doesn’t feel real. But the impact and the outcomes are playing out in real time.

Sarah Peyton is an author, neuroscience educator, and therapist. In her material she discusses how loneliness can stem from avoidant attachment. Huh? I had to read up. Here are some of the signals and symptoms she outlines:

• In avoidant attachment, we learn that we are the only people we can rely on

• Avoidant attachment often demonstrates as a compromised ability to experience pleasure. Compressed highs and lows. Flat line.

• Avoidant attachment is associated with all forms of dysregulation, including impulsive behaviors, low self-esteem, fears of abandonment and more.

The primary human need is attachment. Attachments, or issues of attachment arise in the first 18 months of life. Think about it. We’re ripped from our warm, yummy home, manhandled, spanked so we cry, and then our cord of life is severed. Wow…hell of a start to Day One. Many Moms breast-feed. Many don’t. Many parents are taught to let the babies cry their eyes out. Oh, it’s OK they’ll eventually stop. So…yeah…there can be some attachment issues for anyone and everyone through no fault of their loving parents. Left unaddressed, our attachment wounds will persist into our adult lives and may cause us to unconsciously arrange our lives so that we don’t trigger the emotional memory of traumatic aloneness. This is what can keep us stuck in relationships, jobs or situations that we need to move on from. I’m not a therapist—just a guy trying to make sense of some complicated shit.

OK so what have we discovered; except that maybe part of the reason I love this writing stuff is that it’s a solitary activity? Solitude is good. But mostly it depends on whether you’re the one choosing it. If you’re forced to be alone it’s called isolation—not so good. Separation is good in racing and in traffic—oh and remember social distancing? Geez. Separation ain’t so good in schools, communities and families. Loneliness sucks and we need to find a way to come together and find meaningful connection.

I’m off to talk to my bride and get a little bit ‘o that.