Learning to Keep Company with Yourself

I do therapy. And, I also run. A lot. Because I enjoy it, and it does my body and spirit so much good. I’ve enjoyed it so much that I’ve started to explore ultra-marathon distances and find myself inspired by runners such as Rachel Entrikin and Andy Glaze. Because of this news found hobby, you could image, and correctly so, that I spend a decent amount of time alone. 

And, don’t get me wrong. Some of this is self-imposed. There are run clubs and groups I could run with. But, I find myself much more drawn to running independently most of the time, frequently finding excuses to not interrupt my own alone time. 

Most mornings begin early. There is no conversation or audience, there is no external validation outside of my cat greeting at the door when I get home and demanding belly rubs (she’s a weirdo). What noise there is is comprised of the rhythmic sound of footsteps, breath, and whatever thoughts happen to cross my mind that day. Some people hear this and assume it must be lonely. Sometimes it is. But often it’s something entirely different.

One of the most important distinctions I have come to appreciate, both personally and professionally, is that there is a distinct and important difference between aloneness and loneliness. 

From an existential perspective, loneliness is not simply being physically by oneself. We can feel lonely in a crowded room,  or in a marriage, even within a family, or among close friends. Loneliness emerges when we experience a painful sense of disconnection from others, from ourselves, from meaning, or from the world around us. 

Aloneness, on the other hand, is a condition of existence. Every human life contains moments in which we must stand on our own. No one can feel our emotions for us. No one can make our choices for us. In this reality, we are all relegated to be alone in this world as nobody can live our lives on our behalf. 

This reality (or existential given) can feel scary, perhaps even impersonal! It can also become a source of freedom.

Many of us spend enormous energy trying to escape aloneness. We fill silence with noise and activity. This can look like innocuous things like reaching for our phones to mindlessly scroll, excessively needing reassurance before making a decision, or looking for certainty in places that it doesn’t, or can’t, exist. 

But, the cost of deserting ourselves is high. 

Working toward longer races means my weekly mileage has increased, and my long runs will only get longer and longer. But, it is exactly here where I encounter this most directly. Somewhere beyond the first few miles distraction begins to fall away. There is nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. I am left with myself. 

And honestly? I don’t always know what I’ll meet there. Some days it’s anxiety. Other days, grief. Frequently I find boredom. Sometimes it’s clarity. But, always: I find myself.  

What I have come to realize is that aloneness is not the absence of relationship. It is often the place where a deeper relationship with oneself becomes possible. Our longest relationship in life will always be with ourself. I spend every second of every single day with me. I can’t escape! It matters how I curate that relationship with me.  

This does not mean aloneness is always pleasant. In fact, some of the most difficult experiences of my life have required sitting with emotions I desperately wanted to avoid. Maturing in this area is recognizing that I have the capacity to encounter and be with my emotions and do not have to run from them. Allowing them to be as they are without feeling the need to escape them or change them. 

Loneliness says, "I am disconnected." But, aloneness says, "I am here with me.” 

When we are lonely, we often seek connection. This is healthy and necessary. Human beings are inherently relational. We need love, friendship, community, and belonging.

But when we confuse aloneness for loneliness, we may attempt to solve the wrong problem. We may assume that every uncomfortable moment by ourselves is evidence that something is missing. Sometimes nothing is missing. Sometimes we are simply encountering ourselves.

In therapy, I often see people working hard to avoid solitude because they fear what they might discover there. Yet it is often within these moments that individuals begin to hear their own values, desires, convictions, and truths more clearly. They begin to uncover what is meaningful to them. 

The goal is not independence from others. The goal is not self-sufficiency. The goal is not to become someone who needs no one. Instead, the goal is to develop the ability to be alone without abandoning yourself. There is a paradox at the heart of human existence: the more capable we become of inhabiting our own lives, the more authentically we can meet others within theirs.

Perhaps this is one reason I keep returning to long miles and quiet mornings.

Not because I am escaping connection, but because I am practicing presence in my own life and learning to love my own company. 

June 18, 2026