Human beings are gregarious animals. Although other creatures may develop social units, none have taken socialization to the extremes that we have. We have families, extended families, collections of friends and acquaintances, communities, organizations, governments.

This veritable maze of alliances and allegiances, presumably designed to protect the common welfare, gives us security, physical and emotional comfort, and a sense of belonging. Ever since our ancestors formed tribes to enhance their chances of survival, we have grunted knowingly about the benefits of community.

Indeed, we are hearing a lot these days about the importance of community, of sticking together and looking out for one another. That's very good, and I do not intend to deny the significance, or even the inevitability, of interdependence. However, especially in a society that presumes to celebrate the individual, we might do well to focus more on the merits of solitude and less on our roles as members of the herd.

I read little these days of the value of solitude. It seems to me that, in our frenetically gregarious society, the solitary man or woman is automatically branded as antisocial, that such individuals are deemed to be neurotic – or worse. We consider the loner, by definition, to be something of a misfit. And the immediate assumption is that such individuals must be lonely and miserable.

But loneliness and solitude are not synonymous. In fact, it is possible to feel lonely and isolated in the midst of a crowd. Being among people is no guarantee that one will not be lonely, for loneliness is a state of mind. Solitude, however, is a physical condition, and one's state of mind in solitude can be whatever one wants it to be.

Perhaps one reason why few people seek solitude and many actually fear it is that they are not comfortable being alone with their own thoughts. In solitude, free from the distractions of other people, we can explore our own minds with clarity and in depth. Yet some people are so uncomfortable with solitude that, when they are alone, they must manufacture artificial company. They can no more abide silence than they can solitude, so, alone in the house, for example, they will turn on the TV or the radio.

However, the clarity and depth of thought that can accompany solitude (and silence) are among its chief benefits. Although being alone can exaggerate our anxieties, solitude and silence may be the wellsprings of creativity and problem-solving. To be sure, many of us find that, when we are alone, committee meetings are still going on in our heads, but we can, with practice, learn how to silence the committee.

Unfortunately, most of us are alone too infrequently to get much practice at managing solitude and thus reaping its benefits. But we could be if we wanted to. We could take a solitary walk on our lunch hour instead of hanging around with coworkers, without worrying about being considered antisocial. We could occasionally withdraw from the family to be alone in some quiet place, without feeling that we were neglecting some familial duty. And, when we return to the office or home, we might find that we have more equilibrium and a better ability to cope than we might otherwise have.

We are all currently in states of extreme stress. In the midst of it – in the community, in our workplaces, in our homes – surrounded by others who are experiencing the same anxieties, it is easy to develop a negative perspective. We may even, unconsciously and ironically, draw even deeper into ourselves because the shared anxieties of the community are too overwhelming.

We are also entering a season of Thanksgiving, which is, traditionally, a time of community. It should also be a time to seek solitude – to mark the moment by assessing, alone, who we, as individuals, are and who we are striving to be. Such a communion with ourselves, however brief, could make each of us ultimately more empathetic and compassionate when, as we must, we participate in the human community.

Rich Turner