Looking around social media, I regularly see individuals discussing how introverted they are and how hard it is to be so misunderstood all the time.  Let’s ignore for a second that posting to Facebook every 30 minutes is the opposite of introverted behavior.  Why is everyone clamoring for the label all of a sudden?  There’s no glory in being reticent.  Well-known introverts only got recognition after a lifetime of introspection and solitude.  You’re only the quiet one if you don’t saying anything about it. 

I feel there’s a common misconception about enjoying solitude.  Often someone that says, “I value my alone time,” is referring to those hours of the day when they can fart without apologizing.  On the toilet or in an easy chair we can pick our noses and sing show tunes without fear of inconveniencing others.  Disappear into a book or shut out the world with a video game and the mind gets a chance to reset and balance stress, ideally.  It’s a vital part of keeping sane.  That’s not the same as enjoying solitude.

Time to myself is a ritual habit I use to check in with my heart and mind.  A chance to evaluate where I am in life and how close it is to what I want.  Being alone, without distraction and enjoying what it feels like.  Feeling settled for one minute in the whirlwind chaos of my existence.  Not wondering what to do with my time or checking to see what my friends are up to.  Those are things I do when I’m bored.  I don’t check in with myself out of boredom – it’s an intentional choice.

Facing who you really are isn’t easy.  Especially when identity itself seems to change with the days of the week.  Arguably I could just choose something and go with it.  That’s what adolescence is, trying on different identities until we find something that fits.  Later in life, embracing an uncertain future without the usual fears of entropy and failure taking over is more difficult.  I personally face economic and philosophical questions I haven’t endured with since teenage years.  My moral fiber is slightly tougher at this point, though still fairly stringy.  I’d probably taste gamey if I was a duck.