Sometimes I get lonely, but it's nice to be alone.

“Sometimes I get lonely, but it’s nice to be alone.” — Tatjana Patitz

In these quiet, tender words, Tatjana Patitz, the ethereal supermodel of the 1980s and 1990s, speaks not from the glamour of fame but from the solitude of the human heart. Beneath the beauty and brightness of her public life, she reveals a deeper truth — that loneliness and solitude are not the same, though they may share the same silence. Loneliness is the ache of absence; solitude is the peace of presence. To say, “Sometimes I get lonely, but it’s nice to be alone,” is to acknowledge that even the strong and radiant among us must walk through moments of emptiness, yet within those moments, there lies a sacred calm — a place where the self returns home.

The origin of this quote lies not in performance but in reflection. Tatjana Patitz, though adored by millions and immortalized by the lens of great photographers like Peter Lindbergh, lived much of her life away from the frenzy of celebrity. In her later years, she withdrew to the quiet rhythms of nature, raising horses and her son in the serenity of California’s countryside. Her words were not a lament, but a hymn to balance — the balance between the human need for connection and the soul’s yearning for stillness. She knew that fame can fill a room with light and yet leave the spirit in shadow. Her wisdom, spoken gently, is the wisdom of one who has looked beyond applause and found value in the company of her own thoughts.

Loneliness, in its raw form, is a teacher. It reminds us that we are made for connection — with others, with creation, with God. Yet being alone, when embraced with acceptance, becomes a sanctuary. The ancients knew this well. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote in his Meditations that one must “withdraw into oneself,” for within the soul lies a place untouched by the chaos of the world. Likewise, Jesus of Nazareth often withdrew from the multitudes to pray in solitude, seeking renewal in silence. Tatjana’s words echo these timeless truths: that to be alone is not to be forsaken, but to rediscover one’s inner peace — to listen to the still, small voice that can only be heard when the noise of the world has faded.

Consider the story of Emily Dickinson, the poet who lived much of her life in seclusion. To many, she seemed lonely, even strange. But in her solitude, she found a universe within her own mind. Her verses, written in quiet rooms, became songs for the ages — whispers from the heart of isolation that have consoled generations. Like Tatjana, Dickinson understood that solitude can be fertile ground, not a barren field. From the stillness of aloneness springs the creativity, clarity, and strength that only introspection can give. The world calls it withdrawal; the soul calls it returning.

Yet Tatjana’s words are not a denial of loneliness; they are an embrace of its honesty. She admits, “Sometimes I get lonely.” There is humility in that confession, for to be human is to long, to ache, to remember that love — in all its forms — is what gives life meaning. But instead of resisting loneliness, she transforms it into peace: “...but it’s nice to be alone.” In that turn of phrase, she reveals mastery over her solitude. She has befriended it. She has learned that loneliness is not an enemy to be feared, but a wave that passes, leaving behind the calm sea of contentment.

Her insight carries a message for this modern age — an age drowning in noise, screens, and constant motion. We flee from silence, afraid to meet ourselves in it. Yet Tatjana reminds us that solitude is not absence; it is presence magnified. When we are alone, we see ourselves clearly — the beauty, the flaws, the dreams unspoken. To sit alone, without distraction, is to begin to heal. For in solitude, we remember who we are without the eyes of the world upon us.

So, O seeker of peace, let these words be your counsel: do not fear aloneness. When loneliness visits, welcome it as a messenger, not a curse. Sit with it, breathe through it, and listen to what it teaches. Then, when solitude comes, treat it as a friend — the quiet companion that strengthens the spirit. Go into nature, close the door on the world for a while, and let your thoughts wander until they find rest. For as Tatjana Patitz knew, the heart that can be alone without despair is a heart that has found freedom. And in that freedom lies the deepest beauty — not of the body or the face, but of the soul at peace with itself.