Lesson #5: Solitude vs. Loneliness: The Space Between Peace and Pain

Late Blooming Lessons From Life’s Second Chapter

A journey of discovery. A discovery of self. Pieces of old. Paired with pieces of new.

Lesson #5: Solitude vs. Loneliness: The Space Between Peace and Pain 

“Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone and solitude expresses the glory of being alone.”

After more than a decade of living alone, I’ve come to understand something that took me years to fully grasp:
There’s a big difference between being alone and feeling lonely.

Being alone is a physical state. Sometimes even a choice.
It’s carving out space to exist on my own terms. Scheduling my days. Setting my rhythm. Deciding where and how I want to invest my time.
It’s walking through my home in silence. Not minding the quiet.
It’s savoring mornings with coffee. Writing without interruption. Peloton walks, runs,  workouts that leave me feeling alive. Or long walks outdoors that clear my mind.

I’ve come to embrace this kind of independence.
I’ve learned how to fill my time with joy. Grandchildren’s laughter. Books that stir my soul. Sweat that brings clarity. Stillness that grounds me.

And most importantly, I’ve come to appreciate rest.
Not as something to earn. But something essential.
A pause that allows me to show up fully present in the moments that matter.

But loneliness?
That’s something else. Entirely.

Loneliness isn’t about being physically alone.
It’s a feeling. A hollow ache that creeps in when you least expect it.
It’s the sound of silence that feels just a little too loud.
The absence of a familiar voice saying, “How was your day?”
The emptiness where shared moments once lived. Shoulders to lean on. Hands to hold. Someone who just knows.

Loneliness is disconnection.
Not just from people. But from the world beyond my front door.
It’s the quiet whisper that says, “Stay here. Stay safe. Don’t risk more hurt. Don’t expect too much.”

I’ve come to learn that you can be surrounded by people. Laughter. Conversation. A full room. And still feel completely alone.
Loneliness doesn’t care about proximity.
It cares about connection.

And on the flip side?
There are days when I sit alone in my home. Wrapped in silence.  And feel totally at peace.
Content.
Whole.
Solitude, when chosen, is restorative.
It’s the space where I reflect. Recharge. And reconnect with me.

Loneliness never asks permission. It shows up uninvited, without warning.
And navigating that—finding my way through the shadows it casts—is the real challenge.

So I’m learning.
Learning to stay present.
To shift my focus from what’s missing… to what’s abundant.
To pause. And appreciate the quiet blessings:
A warm text.
Laughter with a friend.
The sweet sound of my grandchildren’s footsteps.
The comfort of knowing that while loneliness visits, it doesn’t define me.

Because yes. Loneliness may come and go.
But I am not alone.
Not really.