If I want to be alone, some place I can write, I can read, I can

In the tender words of Alicia Keys, we find a truth both simple and profound: “If I want to be alone, some place I can write, I can read, I can pray, I can cry, I can do whatever I want — I go to the bathroom.” To the unreflective ear, this may sound ordinary — a confession of privacy, a modern quirk. But to those who listen with the ear of the soul, it reveals something sacred: the human need for sanctuary, for a place untouched by the demands of the world, where the spirit may breathe and remember itself. For even the humblest space, if filled with intention and peace, becomes a temple of solitude.

In the ancient days, prophets and poets sought deserts and mountains for their solitude. Moses withdrew to the heights of Sinai to commune with the Eternal; Buddha sat beneath the Bodhi tree until enlightenment dawned; Mary of Egypt wandered the wilderness to find her God. Yet not all are called to the wild or the sacred mountain. In the world of noise, of duties and interruptions, a person may find their holy silence even behind a closed door. Alicia Keys, in her gentle wisdom, shows that one need not flee the world to find refuge — it is enough to claim a corner of stillness, a moment unclaimed by others.

There is beauty in her humility. The bathroom, a place of cleansing, becomes for her not merely a physical retreat but a spiritual one. There, she may write, releasing the words that dwell unspoken in the heart. She may read, letting other souls speak to her in quiet fellowship. She may pray, lifting her burdens to the unseen. She may cry, allowing her tears to wash away the heaviness of living. And she may simply be — without mask or performance. In that small, unadorned space, she returns to the raw essence of being human.

This truth has echoed through history in many forms. When Virginia Woolf wrote that “a woman must have a room of her own,” she spoke of this same yearning — the need for space, however small, in which the soul can unfold without fear of intrusion. The place matters little; what matters is the freedom within it. For without solitude, no true creation, reflection, or healing can take root. The spirit, constantly surrounded by others, begins to echo their noise instead of hearing its own music.

Yet solitude is not escape — it is renewal. It is the pause that gives meaning to speech, the stillness that gives strength to action. In our age, where the clamor of the world presses upon every moment, to seek solitude even in the smallest way is an act of courage. It is to say: “I am not merely what the world demands of me. I am a soul, and I must breathe.” In that breath, we rediscover ourselves. We remember that before we were workers, friends, parents, or lovers, we were beings of thought, of emotion, of sacred depth.

Let no one despise the small sanctuaries. If your temple is a room, a garden, a park bench, or — as for Alicia — a bathroom, cherish it. Let it be your refuge and your forge. There, you may speak the unspeakable, dream the impossible, forgive yourself, and rise again. Great works are often born in humble spaces; great prayers are whispered in unlikely rooms. It is not the place that sanctifies the soul — it is the soul that sanctifies the place.

So learn from her wisdom, and make your sanctuary. Create a space — even if it is only a few minutes of morning light — where you can be wholly yourself. Bring to it your heart’s honesty: your laughter, your pain, your words, your silence. Do not be ashamed to retreat there, for it is in solitude that the heart repairs its armor and the spirit regains its song. The world does not need your constant presence; it needs your whole presence — and that can only come from the quiet places where you meet yourself again.

Therefore, remember this: solitude is not loneliness. It is the sacred rhythm of retreat and return. Go, then, to your small sanctuary — wherever it may be — and there, like Alicia Keys, write, read, pray, cry, and be free. For in those hidden moments, away from the eyes of the world, the soul learns once again to shine.