I have taken enough laps around Montaigne to know that there is no definitive read of him, and he would stand in opposition to definitive answers to most aspects of life. But from my current vantage point, I see this essay to be less about what we commonly think of as solitude — being alone, either comfortably or uncomfortably — and more about finding peace.

For me, it’s taken ratcheting down my attachments to move closer to this state of being that Montaigne describes. Being deeply connected to others not only puts you in a position of responsibility for their wellbeing, it also can trigger past memories of disquiet that return when you see them echoed in others.

I have seen this in all of my children, who have had their challenges with mental health just like everyone in their generation seems to have had. That is not a criticism or cynical read on the generation either. I think it’s progress that young people feel so much more comfortable raising their mental health concerns these days, and the fact that conversations have become normalized is a major step forward.

It is also true, sadly, that they are growing up in an insane world. Hard as anyone might try, there really is no fitting in today. One must forever be aware of the shifting cultural landscape and the behaviors that are viewed positively one day, but made cringe the next. I don’t know how well I would have responded as a teenager to today’s world — I imagine not very well.

This also makes me less eager to take on the problems of the world. As Montaigne wrote:

There is scarcely less trouble in governing a family than in governing an entire state: whatever the mind is wrapped up in, it is all wrapped up in it, and domestic occupations are no less importunate for being less important.

Connections to children are rightly permanent and being a parent means taking care of your own mental health so you are ready to protect and guide your children as necessary. But I have to be honest — this has made me all the more unwilling to enter into another romantic relationship at this point in my life. I simply do not have space to be there for one more person, not to the extent it’s expected in that kind of relationship.

The peace that Montaigne speaks of is more valuable than you can imagine. I have my life walled off from most things that might trouble me, especially from the past. I have my designed routines and challenges, and have absolutely no need to create drama or check in on anyone else’s.

This has given me a new perspective on this piece from Montaigne. This part of his essay has always appealed to me on some level, but feels especially apt now:

We should have wife, children, goods, and above all health, if we can; but we must not bind ourselves to them so strongly that our happiness depends on them. We must reserve a back shop all our own, entirely free, in which to establish our real liberty and our principal retreat and solitude. Here our ordinary conversation must be between us and ourselves, and so private that no outside association or communication can find a place; here we must talk and laugh as if without wife, without children, without possessions, without retinue and servants, so that, when the time comes to lose them, it will be nothing new to us to do without them. We have a soul that can be turned upon itself; it can keep itself company; it has the means to attack and the means to defend, the means to receive and the means to give: let us not fear that in this solitude we shall stagnate in tedious idleness.

I can’t improve on those words and have nothing of substance to add to them. Let them be the final words, for now.