“Human existence is nothing but solitude.” “Oh, how true that is!” cried the D’Ardelo girl. “A solitude surrounded by other solitudes,” La Franck, then swallowed down the rest, turned, and moved away. (The Festival Of Insignificance, by Milan Kundera, pg. 62-63)
After reading this passage it got me thinking. It is both comforting and sad at the same time.
On the one hand, I find that there is a lot of truth in it. I find myself going on my own path, doing my own thing, being on my own. Potentially there are others that at points in time will interact with my path but for the most part it is me, alone on my journey.
On the other hand, this is sad. Is it true that we are always alone? That we must always feel alone? That no matter what a person does or where a person is they will be alone.
When looking up google images of solitude, they are not pictures necessarily of sadness. For the most part, it feels like time for personal contemplation or meditation. Maybe that is the answer. That solitude is not necessarily a negative state. That solitude is a time and/or space that one is able to find themselves. That each of us needs that time so that we can figure out who we are and who we need/want to be. And in reality we all need that time and space. If we never take it, then we will not be anything at all, so perhaps it is best to be a solitude amongst solitudes, rather than being just part of an amorphous group.