Solitude is not the same as loneliness

Last Sunday the CBC journalist Michael Enright devoted an hour of his 3-hour program, The Sunday Edition,  to the topic of loneliness.  The census shows that increasing proportions of people live alone and anecdotal evidence suggests that many are lonely. He pointed out that many lonely people suffer from mental disorders - which may be either a cause or a consequence of loneliness. The program prompted me to write the following:

I am 87, have lived alone in my apartment since my beloved wife Wendy died more than 3 years ago, after 55 years of married life. I chose to stay here on my own surrounded by a lifetime of memorabilia, rather than move into an assisted living residence for old people. I am happier on my own than being regimented to take part in group activities which I dislike strongly enough to say I detest them. Among my many consolations is the thought that I behaved as a gentleman should when I let my wife go first. I didn't particularly want to live more than three years alone, but I have a decided preference for staying alive: even alone it's preferable to being dead.

It is important to distinguish loneliness from a solitary disposition. Some people can be perfectly happy on their own.  In the late 1960s when I was on the staff of the University of Edinburgh I once discussed solitude and loneliness with the Oxford psychiatrist Anthony Storr. He wrote some profoundly thought-provoking books, including one called Solitude, which I found particularly comforting because it set out the arguments in favour of being alone. He pointed out, among other things, that creativity usually requires solitude: a novelist, a composer, a sculptor, a painter, a poet, works alone but is seldom lonely while working.

I do get lonely occasionally. This is relieved by CBC Radio which provides many hours of good company every day.  My children phone me every day to reassure themselves that I'm still alive and kicking; my daughter and her gourmet cook husband bring a meal to my apartment at least once a week throughout the winter, and in summer my younger son drives me to my daughter's home for a barbecue every weekend. My older son who divides his time between the Royal Military College, Kingston and Toronto and frequently travels internationally, phones me almost every day (often by Skype when he's elsewhere in the world). My grandchildren also communicate frequently, mostly by email.  

The consolations of solitude carry greater weight for me than the hazards of loneliness.