Every now and then, I find myself experiencing an irrepressible sense of wanderlust. I often choose to go on these trips alone, and in the process, have discovered a fascinating group of individuals who swear by solo travel, many having done so repeatedly, for extended periods of time.

However, when it comes up in conversation, I am invariably asked to explain myself to a puzzled and slightly sympathetic audience. I am often unable to fully articulate why I so relish these solitary trips. What is it that draws some of us towards solitude, and others away from it?

Historically, solitude was a much greater part of the average person’s life. With the urbanisation of the past century, population densities are at an all-time high; in today’s world, there is a premium attached to privacy. Mentally, too, solitude is now harder to achieve: in this age of hyper-connectivity, there is little respite from the consistent stream of emails, text messages and social media updates. Solitude, once a routine part of our existence, is now a state that invites curiosity, and carries an unmistakable stigma.

However, there is evidence to suggest that solitude is, in fact, important for a well-functioning social life. Ester Buccholz, a clinical psychologist, argued that the lack of “alone time” in modern American society fuelled higher rates of stress and depression. A study conducted in the 1990s found that upon spending increased time alone, teenagers showed an improvement in self-esteem. Far from being ­anti-social, solitude is in fact vital for sustaining our emotional well-being.

Beyond utilising solitude as a form of repose or rejuvenation, thinkers through the ages have used it as a tool to sharpen focus and aid creativity. Adam Phillips, a psychoanalytic writer, coined the term “fertile solitude”, pushing forward the idea that solitude is an essential driver of productivity. Ernest Hemingway, Ingmar Bergman and Virginia Woolf are just a few of the creative minds that consistently turned to solitude not merely as a respite from daily life, but rather, as a source of inspiration.

This use of solitude is not restricted to the arts; Winston Churchill, for instance, famously maintained a daily routine throughout World War II — for almost half the day, he worked uninterrupted, from the privacy of his own bed. Steve Wosniak, co-founder of Apple, is also a well-known advocate of working alone.

The majority of today’s professional settings tell a very different story. As Susan Cain highlights in her book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, collaboration is the currency of the modern-day workspace. Cubicle walls are now considerably reduced in height, and in some cases, have disappeared altogether.

More often than not, there is a hot desking system in place, and in some organisations, even top management no longer work in coveted corner offices. In today’s context, the idea of working in solitude seems to be the domain of academics or creative geniuses, a luxury reserved for “artistic” or “eccentric” individuals pursuing less conventional career paths.

Collaboration is by no means unimportant. In some form, it is vital to all kinds of work; enabling ideas to collide and harnessing collective wisdom. The group versus individual divide is a false dilemma; rather, they play different, complementary roles. The same individuals who thrive in solitude often benefit tremendously from collaboration in different situations. Rather than have to commit to one or the other, it is more useful to seek what is appropriate for the specific context.

But this is easier said than done; the invitation to collaborate is always louder than to work in solitude. It is far easier to jump on the groupthink bandwagon than to forge truly original ideas. And in most workplaces, it is still unacceptable to block “alone time” in a calendar, or go offline for an extended period of time.

This stands in contrast to many successful individuals who actively carve out solitude for themselves — for instance, Jeff Weiner, CEO of LinkedIn, schedules two hours of uninterrupted thinking time per day, and Warren Buffet, with a famously empty calendar, estimates that he has spent most of his career reading and thinking. Without a strategy in place, solitude is rarely deliberate, and is instead negatively defined by the gaps in the calendar between meetings and social obligations.

More fundamentally, however, pursuing solitude is a risky endeavour. Even when voluntary, whether in a personal or professional capacity, aloneness brings with it the aura of alienation. These fears are not unfounded; solitude, when involuntary, turns into loneliness, which is extremely damaging to long-term well-being and productivity.

But whether or not we choose to engage with solitude, all great leaders grapple with it. Leadership calls us, at one point or another, to stand alone behind an unpopular or untested view, or push forward a vision that is far ahead of its time. Aloneness is one of the most universal experiences of leadership; yet, while there is an abundance of advice on managing or interacting with other people, there is little attention paid to the solitary aspects of the journey. The discipline of solitude is often a formative part of leadership development.

Ultimately, I enjoy travelling alone as well as with other people, just as I enjoy different working styles for different purposes. Depending on the circumstances, both ways of being have the potential to energise and rejuvenate.

I view them both as two sides of the same coin, but find that it is the solitude that I repeatedly have to justify and protect. Just like the experience of travelling alone, making space for the practice of solitude can be challenging, and even a little risky — but overall, a worthwhile adventure.

Joanna Lim is principal and co-founder of Anyaman Preschool, an early childhood centre inspired by the Reggio Emilia philosophy.

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