Being Thoughtful Amid AI and Connectivity
Exploring Being Alone When Technology Is Always Present
My Personal Reflections
There is a curious paradox at the heart of modern life. Never before have we been so connected by devices, networks, and social platforms. And yet never before has it been so difficult to find real solitude. The world is always at our fingertips, but the inner world, the quiet space where deep thought and true selfhood take root, feels more elusive than ever.
What does it mean to be alone with our thoughts in an age when every idle moment is filled by a screen? Why do so many of us long for solitude, even as we fear it? And how can we reclaim the pleasures and benefits of contemplation in a world designed to distract us?
Zena Hitz’s Lost in Thought: The Hidden Pleasures of an Intellectual Life offers a compelling answer. For Hitz, solitude is not an escape from reality, but a vital practice. It serves as a way of nurturing autonomy, creativity, and dignity. However, solitude is not always easy or accessible, and it comes with its own risks and costs. Drawing on Hitz, the spiritual wisdom of Thomas Merton, and the psychological insight of Anthony Storr, this essay explores the promise and peril of solitude today, and asks: How can we make space for contemplation in a world that never stops talking?
Rediscovering the Inner Life
In Zena Hitz’s book, she describes the pleasures of reading, thinking, and learning for their own sake, valuing the intrinsic joy of discovery rather than for applause or advancement. Solitude, for Hitz, is the soil in which the intellectual life flourishes. It is a space of dignity and inwardness, where one can pursue truth without fear of judgment or distraction.
Hitz is clear: the pleasures of solitude are available to anyone, not just scholars or monks. A factory worker reading a novel on her lunch break, a prisoner studying philosophy in his cell, a retiree learning a new language - these are the hidden intellectuals, cultivating their inner lives in quiet defiance of a noisy world.
The Spiritual Practice of Being Alone
If Hitz’s solitude is intellectual, Thomas Merton’s is deeply spiritual. For Merton, solitude was not withdrawal but a clearer way of seeing the world. In the silence, he found fullness, a presence and connection that everyday busyness obscures. His writings reveal solitude’s challenges (e.g., boredom, restlessness, distraction) as well as its rewards (e.g., moments of peace and insight). Solitude becomes a path to self-knowledge and spiritual awakening, stripping away illusions to encounter reality as it truly is.
Importantly, Merton saw solitude as foundational to authentic relationships. He argued that only those who have made peace with themselves can truly love others. The fear of being alone leads not to connection but loneliness, regardless of company. In this view, solitude is not antisocial but the necessary groundwork for genuine connection with others.
Solitude and the Creative Mind
The psychiatrist Anthony Storr offers a third perspective. In his classic book Solitude: A Return to the Self, Storr argues that creativity and psychological health depend on our ability to be alone. He sees the capacity for solitude as a key marker of emotional maturity.
For Storr, solitude is a space for play, imagination, and self-renewal and not a place for escape from the world. Many of history’s greatest artists, writers, and thinkers, from Beethoven to Woolf, have relied on solitude to do their best work. At the same time, Storr acknowledges that solitude is not always easy or comfortable. It can bring anxiety, boredom, or even despair, particularly for those unaccustomed to their own company.
What unites Hitz, Merton, and Storr is the conviction that solitude is not a luxury, but a necessity. It is the ground of autonomy, creativity, and spiritual depth. In solitude, we become ourselves.
When Solitude Becomes Loneliness
Solitude, for all its promise, can quickly turn into loneliness, a feeling of emptiness, isolation, and longing for connection. The line between generative solitude and corrosive loneliness is thin, and often invisible until crossed.
Loneliness is not just a private sorrow; it is a public health crisis. Recent studies1 show that chronic loneliness and social isolation can increase the risk of early death to a degree comparable with well-known risk factors such as smoking and obesity. In a world where more people live alone than ever before, and where social ties are increasingly mediated by screens, the risk of loneliness is real and growing.
Hitz acknowledges this danger. She writes movingly of the “hidden intellectuals” who cultivate their minds in solitude, but she also recognizes that not all solitude is chosen, and not all who are alone are content. The factory worker reading on her break may be escaping not just noise, but neglect; the prisoner may turn to philosophy because he has no one else to talk to.
Merton, too, was wary of the dangers of isolation. He warned that solitude, if pursued for the wrong reasons, can become a form of escapism or narcissism, a way of fleeing from the demands of love and responsibility.
Who Gets to Be Alone? Privilege and Access
There is another, often overlooked, dimension to the story of solitude: privilege. The ability to seek out quiet, to have a “room of one’s own,” is not equally available to all. Economic insecurity, caregiving responsibilities, crowded living conditions, and cultural expectations can make solitude a rare or impossible luxury.
Virginia Woolf famously argued2 that a woman needs money and a room of her own to write fiction. The same is true, in a broader sense, for anyone who seeks contemplation. The contemplative ideal, for all its beauty, risks becoming an exclusive club, open only to those with the time, space, and resources to withdraw.
Moreover, the value placed on solitude varies across cultures. In some places, community, ritual, and shared life are central, while individual withdrawal is less emphasized. The Western image of the solitary thinker or artist is not a universal ideal; in other contexts, solitude may be viewed less as a virtue and more as an absence or even a loss.
Anxiety, Boredom, and Self-Doubt
Even for those who can access solitude, being alone is not always easy. The mind, unmoored from external demands, can turn inward in unhelpful ways, ruminating, catastrophizing, or simply drifting into numbness. Boredom, anxiety, and self-doubt are frequent companions of the solitary life.
Hitz, Merton, and Storr all write honestly about these struggles. Solitude, they remind us, is not a panacea. It is a practice, and like any practice, it requires patience, discipline, and self-compassion. The rewards of solitude are real, but they are not automatic.
How Digital Life Disrupts Solitude
If solitude was once threatened by the demands of work or family, it is now besieged by the relentless presence of technology. Our devices promise connection, information, and entertainment at every turn; in practice, they often deliver distraction, anxiety, and a gnawing sense of absence.
Sherry Turkle, in her influential book Alone Together, describes our condition as one of “constant partial attention.” Notifications, messages, and algorithmic feeds intrude upon every quiet moment, making true solitude a rare and endangered experience. The attention economy is designed to capture and monetize our focus3, leaving little room for the negative space in which new ideas and genuine selfhood can emerge.
For Hitz, this is a profound loss. The inward life she celebrates depends on the ability to withdraw, to be alone with one’s thoughts. In a world where every idle moment is filled by a screen, the pleasures of contemplation are harder to find.
Is Digital “Solitude” Possible?
For some, digital tools facilitate new forms of contemplative practice: meditation apps, online courses, virtual retreats. For those who cannot access traditional solitude, the internet can offer a lifeline, a way to connect with like-minded seekers, to find inspiration and support.
Consider the rise of “digital detox” movements, or the popularity of mindfulness apps like Headspace and Calm. These technologies promise to help us reclaim our attention, to carve out islands of quiet in a sea of noise. For some, they work; for others, they are just another form of distraction.
The challenge, then, is not to reject technology outright, but to use it wisely. This means setting boundaries, turning off notifications, carving out device-free time, and reclaiming spaces for reflection. It also means rethinking our relationship to technology, using it as a means to support, rather than supplant, our contemplative practices.
Inequality and Digital Solitude
Finally, the digital divide introduces new forms of inequality. While some can afford to unplug or retreat to quiet spaces, others are tethered to devices by economic necessity or lack of alternatives. The contemplative ideal must therefore be adapted to the realities of a world where access to solitude, and the means to protect it, is unevenly distributed.
Reclaiming Solitude, Imperfectly
Solitude and contemplation remain vital practices for personal growth, autonomy, and authentic engagement with the world. But their value is not absolute or universal; it depends on context, intention, and the delicate balance between inwardness and connection.
In an age of distraction, loneliness, and technological saturation, reclaiming our capacity for solitude is both an act of resistance and a path to flourishing. But this happens only if we do so with awareness of its limits and its costs. The ongoing work of autonomy is not a solitary project, but a collective one. It requires us to create cultures, communities, and technologies that support the full range of human needs, for reflection and for relationship, for solitude and for solidarity.
So how might we begin? Here are a few practical suggestions:
Invent Your Own Hidden Academy:
Inspired by Hitz’s “hidden intellectuals,” transform a mundane daily setting, a bus ride, a lunch break, a laundry room, into your personal academy. Bring a book, a question, or a puzzle. Let learning become a secret act of dignity.Practice a Silent Meal:
Once a week, eat a meal in silence, as Merton did. Notice the taste, the texture, the thoughts that arise. Let the absence of conversation become a presence in itself.Schedule Boredom as a Creative Practice:
Block out fifteen minutes for “productive boredom.” No phone, no book, no task. Sit and let your mind wander. Storr found that creativity often emerges from such unstructured solitude.Host a Communal Solitude Gathering:
Invite friends or family to share an hour together in silence, reading, writing, or simply being. Afterwards, discuss what you noticed. This “communal solitude” blends reflection and connection.Mark Your Micro-Retreat:
If you lack private space, claim a symbolic retreat: wear a “thinking cap,” turn a chair to face a window, or use headphones to signal your inward turn. Ritualize your boundary, however small.Keep a Resistance Journal:
Each day, jot down one moment you reclaimed from distraction: a thought you followed, a silence you enjoyed, a notification you ignored. Let solitude become an act of creative resistance.
We reclaim our inner space, cultivate autonomy, and prepare ourselves for the authentic interactions that make life meaningful by making deliberate choices to incorporate solitude and contemplation into our lives, while remaining attentive to their ambiguities, challenges, and inequalities. In this ongoing experiment, we find not just the hidden pleasures of an intellectual life, but the resources for a more humane and connected world.
Rogers, K. (2023). Loneliness or social isolation linked to serious health outcomes, study finds. CNN. https://www.cnn.com/2023/06/19/health/loneliness-social-isolation-early-death-risk-wellness
Woolf, V. (1929). A room of one’s own. Project Gutenberg Australia. https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks02/0200791h.html
Williams, J. (2018). Stand out of our light: Freedom and resistance in the attention economy. Cambridge University Press.