Tim Boerkamp, Founder and Philosophy Writer at Examined Mind, a platform for practical philosophy, explores the philosophy of loneliness, including why solitude is not the enemy
Do you like being alone?
It’s a deceptively simple question, one that feels almost strange to ask in a world where we’re more connected than ever. Being reachable has become the default; being alone has become the exception. So when you choose solitude, when you don’t reply, post, or like, it can feel like you’re doing something wrong. People assume you must be lonely.
But what if being alone isn’t the enemy? What if, instead, it’s one of the most overlooked sources of strength and clarity we have?
As Arthur Schopenhauer once said, “A person can be themselves only so long as they are alone; and if they do not love solitude, they will not love freedom.” It’s an idea that feels increasingly radical in a world that prizes collaboration and constant communication. But Schopenhauer wasn’t advocating isolation; he was pointing out a truth that’s easy to forget: without time alone, we lose touch with ourselves.
Being alone vs. feeling lonely
Being alone and feeling lonely are not the same thing. The first is a fact. The second is a feeling. Yet we often blur the two, and that confusion shapes how we experience them. When you tell yourself you are lonely simply because you are alone, your thoughts quickly follow. And where your thoughts go, your emotions tend to follow too.
That distinction matters, not just for personal well-being but for how we design workplaces, communities, and even societies. If we treat every moment of solitude as something to fix, we risk creating environments that leave no room for reflection, only reaction.
As Marcus Aurelius wrote, “The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.” When solitude is viewed as isolation, we fill it with noise. When it’s seen as space for reflection, we allow new colours to emerge.
When company makes you lonely
If loneliness were simply the absence of people, it would be easy to solve. But most of us know it’s not that simple. You can feel lonely in a crowd, at a family dinner, or even in a relationship. Because loneliness isn’t about being without others, it’s about being without connection.
Jean-Paul Sartre’s famous line, “Hell is other people,” is often misread as a rejection of humanity. What he actually meant was that when we live through the judgement and expectations of others, we become trapped inside their gaze. We stop being ourselves. And that’s a kind of loneliness no company can cure.
Or, if you’ll indulge me, allow me to mix philosophy with hip-hop for a minute. As Mac Miller once put it, “Sometimes I get lonely, not when I’m alone. But it’s more when I’m standin’ in crowds that I’m feelin’ the most on my own.” Different century, same insight.
What I love about that line is that it captures the quiet ache behind most loneliness; it’s not the absence of people, but the absence of something else.
The missing piece
So what’s missing when we feel lonely? It’s not necessarily people, it’s a connection. And no, I’m not talking about Wi-Fi. But the kind of connection that lets you feel seen and recognised, not just acknowledged.
The philosopher Martin Buber referred to this as the “I–You” relationship: a genuine meeting between two people, without masks or roles. Most of our interactions are “I–It”, functional, efficient, but impersonal. We need both. But without moments of “I–You,” where we meet another person in their full humanity, we begin to lose sight of our own.
Hannah Arendt adds a deeper layer. Even when we’re alone, she said, we carry on a dialogue with ourselves, a “two-in-one.” But that inner conversation relies on the echoes of our relationships with others. Without meaningful encounters, that inner voice can start to feel hollow.
Choosing solitude wisely
If loneliness stems from disconnection, the answer isn’t always to surround yourself with more people. Sometimes, it’s to reclaim solitude, to turn it from something that happens to you into something you choose.
The Stoics knew this well. Marcus Aurelius reminded himself that peace doesn’t come from remote retreats, but from retreating into oneself. Seneca warned that solitude without reflection can quickly become self-torment.
Montaigne suggested that the wise person can live contentedly anywhere, but given the choice, will often choose to be alone, not out of avoidance of others, but out of a desire for clarity. Because solitude clears the noise, it reminds us of who we are when no one else is watching.
Loneliness as a teacher
Loneliness hurts, but that doesn’t make it meaningless. It’s a signal, one that tells us something about our relationship with ourselves and with others. It asks us to examine what kind of connection we’re missing, and whether we’re searching for it in the right places.
Philosophically speaking, loneliness isn’t just emotional discomfort. It’s disorientation, the feeling of losing the mirror through which you recognise yourself. Solitude, on the other hand, is what helps you rebuild that mirror.
So perhaps the goal isn’t to eliminate loneliness, but to understand it. To let it guide us back to connection, not necessarily with others, but with ourselves.
