we are all alone together.

The separation of each from others is unbridgeable:

Growing up in Smalltown, Minnesota left me with a naiveté regarding the distance between people. Everyone bears the harsh winter and the sultry summer together. We work toward mosquito genocides exacted on the same evenings, and surprise each other and ourselves by getting out of bed when the wind chill is dangerously cold. It wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles that I realized just how far apart people could be: the proximity belied the distance. Though claustrophobically full of bodies, solitude is hard to escape while difficult to appreciate. Loneliness runs rampant in a city of millions.

our souls are ever inside;

I enjoy hiking quite a lot, and hiking by myself is great (though I suppose not the wisest decision if I don’t want to have to cut my arm off). I love the camaraderie of it. Hiking past someone taking a rest or meeting them at the top of the mountain, there’s a connection there that’s unexpectedly strong.

however, solidarity in solitude encourages appreciation:

I spent a summer in solitude. It changed me – I’m not sure I can return from that place. I am too aware of the fact that others cannot enter into the thoughts of my mind, the motivations of my heart, or the yearnings of my spirit. A sanctuary, my soul, is of stone and mortar. The walls have yet to be breached and the drawbridge is in disrepair. I am also aware, though, that across the river and over the plains is another sanctuary.

And from my tower I see for miles and miles.

And I see endless sanctuaries.

at least we are alone together.