EARLIER this month, I lost my mother. My family and I are still finding our way through the days after her passing. There are condolences to acknowledge, arrangements to attend to and the ordinary demands of work that do not stop. Yet in the middle of all this, I have found myself wanting something I rarely make room for: silence.
Grief has a way of changing the sound of a day. A phone notification suddenly feels less urgent. The meetings and messages that once filled every hour seem less important. When I sit alone, I am not always looking for an answer. Sometimes I am simply trying to understand what I feel, and to give myself permission to feel it.
This has made me think about Stephen Batchelor’s book, “The Art of Solitude.” Batchelor, a writer and Buddhist teacher, does not see solitude as an escape from other people but as a way of paying attention to our own minds. His reflections draw on meditation, art, and the philosopher Michel de Montaigne. The point is not to disappear from society. It is to return to it with a better understanding of ourselves.
I find this distinction important. We often confuse solitude with loneliness. Loneliness is the pain of lacking connection. Solitude can be a chosen moment to listen to ourselves. One can feel lonely in a crowd and at peace alone. And solitude need not mean living in a distant retreat. It can happen in a quiet room before the family wakes up, during a walk without earphones, or over a cup of coffee without checking a screen.
For many of us in business, doing nothing feels almost irresponsible. We spend our days solving problems, making presentations, replying to clients and moving from one meeting to another. We fill gaps in our schedules as if an empty hour were an error to be corrected. Even vacations are organized around a list of things to accomplish.
But constant activity is not the same as progress.
I’ve seen the pressure leaders can get caught up in to reply immediately. A tough email arrives, and we fire off a pointed reply. Sales fall off and we order a new campaign. An employee questions our judgment; we interpret it as defiance. We act because action makes us feel in control. Yet, a few quiet minutes might reveal that the email was misunderstood, the sales problem was deeper, or the employee had raised a concern we needed to hear.
Solitude creates distance between an event and our reaction. That distance can save relationships, money and time. More importantly, it can prevent us from saying or doing things we later regret.
It also makes room for uncomfortable questions. Am I pursuing this opportunity because it serves the business, or because I want to prove something? Am I listening to my people, or just waiting for my turn to speak? Have I been so busy building a career that I have neglected the people for whom I claim to be building it?
These are not questions a dashboard can answer. Nor will a new AI application do the hard work of answering them for us. Technology can collect information and recommend options. It cannot decide what matters most in our lives.
In the Philippines, where family and community occupy such a large place in our lives, time alone can feel strange. We are used to company, conversation and being available to others. I have been reminded, through the kindness shown to my family, how much we need these connections. But being surrounded by people and being able to sit with our own thoughts are not opposites. We need both.
For leaders, I would suggest a small habit. Before opening your messages in the morning, spend 10 or 15 minutes without a phone. Sit quietly or walk. Ask yourself what deserves your attention today, what you may be avoiding and whom you need to listen to more carefully. Resist the temptation to turn those minutes into another productivity exercise. Some days you will gain clarity. Other days, nothing will seem to happen. Both are fine.
I am learning that solitude does not make grief disappear. There are moments when silence brings memories, sadness and questions that have no answers. I do not want to turn the loss of my mother into a management lesson. Some experiences deserve more respect than that. Still, her passing has forced me to reconsider how I spend my days and what I give my attention to.
Success is often measured by how much we accomplish and how quickly we move. Perhaps a better measure is whether we are present for the people who matter, and whether we can live with the choices we make.
Sometimes the wisest thing a leader, a parent, or a person can do is sit back for a while, stop filling the silence, and listen.
The author is the founder and CEO of Hungry Workhorse, a digital, culture, and customer experience transformation consulting firm.
