People who tell others to enjoy their solitude or learn how to be happy alone have never been truly isolated themselves.
I mean completely alone. Nobody who cares about them. Nobody who would so much as show up to their funeral if it wasn’t in the same town. No family, no friends, no partner.
I grew up neglected and abused by my parents and isolated from my extended family. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t seem to keep friends in school until college. I spent most of my life existing with the knowledge that nobody loved me, and deeply feared that it would be my entire existence. I feel like my isolation has both given me a perspective people don’t tend to get until they’re older, but has also left me with a deep hole in my chest.
Humans want belonging. A child not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. Being metaphorically isolated from the village feels like a death sentence.
I reconnected with my extended family when I was 16. They’ve all been so incredibly nice and welcoming. Warm. But I constantly have my guard up around them. I can’t trust they won’t cut me off at random. I’m barely family, after all. They barely know me. At 18, a natural disaster had hit the area I lived in and my grandmother texting me to ask if I was alright was one of the first times I had experienced anybody having concern for me. It felt foreign and I rationalized it away by the idea that she had to ask to be polite. That she didn’t actually mean it.
I struggle to keep friends now. I’ll sometimes accidentally ghost friends for days or weeks at a time because I’m just not used to people wanting to talk to me.
People who romanize being alone, are usually talking about spending a day or two by themselves. With the knowledge they still have their family or friends to belong to. That they aren’t entirely alone in this world. They can’t even fucking imagine a life of complete isolation.