A friend came by this morning for what has become a monthly catch-up ritual, featuring very strong coffee. We broke an unofficial record by going on for two delightful hours that covered, among other topics, grandchildren, religion, national and local politics, Chicago schools, weddings, operas and South American opera houses. We take great delight in these visits, but this one ended on a surprise note. Standing by the elevator on his way out, our friend said, “I’m really a hermit at heart. I would be happy to be alone with my books and music.”
The experience we had just shared and that closing remark seem irreconcilable, yet I understood perfectly where he was coming from. We have several friends who insist that we are the most social people they know, yet nothing pleases us more than checking our calendar in the morning and delighting in seeing a blank box next to the date. During the height of Covid, the mandated social isolation that so many people found maddening elicited a different reaction from us. We relished the time alone to read, to cook and bake, and to indulge in the rich streaming offerings.
On the other hand, with the Covid restraints long in the rear-view mirror, we feel the itch when we haven’t heard from a particular friend or when nobody has called us or invited us to dinner for a long time. When we lived in New Hampshire, there came a time every winter when we were overcome with self-pity. No calls and no visits translated into “Nobody likes us or cares about us anymore.” In fact, everyone was hunkered down close to their woodstoves trying to stay warm, content not to have to venture out onto the treacherously icy town roads. The spring sun rekindled those friendships.
I’m guessing we’re not the only ones in search of balance in their lives between the polarities of the hermit and the social butterfly. Hanging out too long at either end of spectrum might suit some people just fine, but for most of us it could denote a problem. We had a friend whose house was always filled with houseguests and casual visitors. In retrospect, we realized that his marriage was in trouble and all those visitors served as a buffer between him and his wife. Conversely, someone who consistently chooses to isolate himself may genuinely find pleasure in that situation or may be fearful of how interactions might cause social discomfort.
We are part of a Jewish community that is at the heart of our social lives. We have to travel a long distance to be with them. Yet, there are Saturday mornings when we balk at the drive ahead and wish to be left alone with our books and newspapers. I consider this a healthy tension. A balanced life should include both time in the company of others and time to recharge in the presence of no one but yourself, whether you’re using that time to read, watch and listen or just to think, meditate and reflect.
I spent a considerable chunk of my teen years reading on our living room couch – yes, one of those much-maligned ones with a plastic cover that stuck to your bottom on hot summer days. This caused my mother considerable anguish as she imagined me permanently mired at the hermit end of our continuum. “Why don’t you go out and mingle with people?” she pleaded. But there was more to my life than that. I was part of a synagogue youth group that provided both a religious and a social outlet for me and even produced my first serious girlfriend. My activities with the group sometimes involved late hours – something else for my mother to worry about.
Our granddaughter Dalia is almost 14. Her adolescence is playing out under circumstances very different from mine. There’s that ubiquitous phone, for example, that means you’re never fully alone. I worry about the effects of insufficient time devoted to nothing but what’s roiling around in her own brain. That phone also carries a constant stream of judgments from peers. I know it’s different for boys, but I don’t remember having to deal with that kind of pressure, which would have driven me further in the hermit direction. For many boys, it’s not the phone, but the computer and its allure that lures them to that end of the spectrum.
It’s interesting to speculate on how the current generation will distribute itself on the hermit/social butterfly continuum and whether it will look any different for them. But it’s clear that we all carry strong traces of both. It’s not surprising( that a well-integrated personality is built on a healthy balance of the two.
Rather than ending with my own words, here are two different takes on the subject of solitude vs. sociability:
What are friends for, my mother asks.
A duty undone, visit missed,
casserole unbaked for sick Jane.
Someone has just made her bitter.
Nothing. They are for nothing, friends,
I think. All they do in the end—
They touch you. They fill you like music.
(Rosellen Brown)
Solitude is very different from a ‘time-out’ from our busy lives. Solitude is the very ground from which community grows. Whenever we pray alone, study, read, write, or simply spend quiet time away from the places where we interact with each other directly, we are potentially opened for a deeper intimacy with each other.
(Henri Nouwen)
Fortunately, you don’t need to choose one to the exclusion of the other. It’s best when it’s yes, and….
