The Paradox of Wanting to Be Alone (and Feeling Like I Shouldn’t)

Lately, I’ve been feeling antisocial. I don’t exactly know why. Maybe it’s the general state of the world—this endless barrage of bad news and noise. Maybe it’s just one of those moods that creeps in unannounced. But whatever the reason, I find myself withdrawing, and then almost immediately, I start questioning it.

Shouldn’t I be more engaged? Shouldn’t I be reaching out, staying connected, being a part of things?

It’s a strange contradiction, isn’t it? The mind always seems to whisper two things at once: You should be with people. You should be alone. And whichever one I choose, the other lingers in the background, second-guessing me.

But here’s something to consider—who is this “I” that both craves solitude and thinks it should be social? It’s as if I’m split into two selves: one that feels the pull of isolation, and another that stands back, observing, questioning, making judgments. And the real struggle comes from believing that one of them must be right and the other must be wrong.

In reality, there’s no rule that says I must be social, just as there’s none that says I must be alone. Both are natural states. Sometimes we withdraw, sometimes we engage. Sometimes we are like the moon, hidden in shadow; other times, we reflect light back into the world.

The important thing is not to force myself into socializing out of guilt or obligation. Can I just sit with this feeling instead? Can I let it be, without trying to fix it? Because maybe solitude is exactly what I need right now. And when the time is right, I’ll gravitate toward people again—not because I should, but because I want to.

So, for now, I’ll be as I am, without forcing anything. And if I do rejoin the world, I’ll do it the way a musician rejoins the orchestra—not because he has to, but because he feels the rhythm calling him back.