I'm learning a lot about myself being alone, and doing what I'm

In the quiet, introspective words of Chantal Kreviazuk, the poet and musician of deep emotional insight, we find a truth as ancient as the mountains and as personal as a heartbeat: “I’m learning a lot about myself being alone, and doing what I’m doing.” These are not words of despair, but of awakening. They are the confession of a soul that has entered the sacred chamber of solitude, where the noise of the world fades and the voice of the self can finally be heard. To be alone, truly alone, is to meet one’s own depths—an encounter many flee from, but one that every seeker must someday embrace.

Kreviazuk’s words emerged not from theory, but from experience. As an artist who often wrestled with the burdens of fame, creativity, and identity, she discovered that solitude is not an emptiness but a mirror. In her moments apart from the applause and companionship of others, she learned that growth does not come from constant company but from the courage to sit with one’s own thoughts, fears, and desires. Her statement captures a universal pilgrimage: the journey inward, where one learns not how to escape oneself, but how to understand, forgive, and refine the self. It is a declaration of self-discovery through solitude.

This truth has echoed through the ages. The ancient sages and poets knew that the mind cannot see clearly while surrounded by the clamor of the crowd. They sought deserts and mountains, monasteries and forests, not as places of exile, but as sanctuaries for revelation. Think of Buddha, who sat beneath the Bodhi tree, alone, until he found enlightenment—not from another’s teaching, but from the silence within. Or of Henry David Thoreau, who retreated to the woods of Walden Pond, where he discovered that simplicity and solitude were not a withdrawal from life, but a deeper participation in it. Like Kreviazuk, these souls understood that to be alone is not to be abandoned—it is to walk with one’s truest companion: the self.

And yet, to dwell in solitude is no easy path. For when the outer world falls silent, the inner world begins to speak—and it speaks with many voices. There are the echoes of regret, the shadows of doubt, the murmurs of longing. Many flee these voices, seeking distraction in noise or company. But the one who endures them with patience learns their hidden wisdom. In solitude, we see our illusions stripped away; we confront our own frailty, but also our strength. As Kreviazuk says, “I’m learning a lot about myself”—a humble acknowledgment that wisdom is not found in comfort, but in honest reflection.

There is a paradox here: though solitude appears as separation, it often leads to connection. For once we come to know ourselves, we learn how to truly know others. The heart that has faced its own darkness grows tender toward the struggles of the world. The artist who has walked the silent road alone returns with songs that speak for all. The leader who has learned patience in solitude can guide with compassion. The poet, the mystic, the healer—all draw their power from the same well: the stillness of the inner life.

Kreviazuk’s insight also carries a modern resonance. In an age where every moment is crowded with distraction—screens, conversations, endless motion—her words are a call to return to stillness. To “be alone” is no longer a condition we accept, but one we must choose. And yet, it is there that we rediscover clarity. To sit without music, without chatter, and to ask oneself: Who am I when there is no audience? This is the beginning of genuine understanding. For in that quiet space, truth reveals itself, and the soul rediscovers its rhythm.

The lesson, then, is this: do not fear solitude. Seek it, even if for a few moments each day. Walk by the sea, sit beneath a tree, turn off the noise of the world and listen. The heart is an ancient teacher, but it speaks softly—it can only be heard when the world grows still. And as you sit in that silence, you will begin, as Kreviazuk did, to learn about yourself: your desires, your wounds, your strengths, and your path. From that knowledge will come not isolation, but freedom.

So, remember this, O listener: to be alone is not to be lost—it is to be found. The one who dares to dwell in solitude walks the oldest road of all, the road that leads inward. For there, in the quiet of your own company, the mystery of who you are begins to unfold, and you discover that you were never truly alone. You were simply waiting to meet yourself.