From the Founder, Brian Mazza 8/4
Solitude vs. Isolation
Solitude Isn’t Isolation — It’s Healing
This past weekend, I had an incredible, validating conversation with my friend Pete Kohlasch about solitude. He told me he went on an 8-hour solitude walk. That hit me.
I realized something during that conversation: solitude is a practice not spoken about nearly enough. Why? Because most people confuse it with isolation and a lot of people do not like themselves.
But here’s the truth:
Solitude and isolation are not the same.
In fact, they couldn’t be further apart.
Solitude is choosing to spend time with yourself because you respect yourself.
Isolation is withdrawing because you’re trying to escape something.
Big difference.
Again, I’ll be honest — most people don’t like themselves enough to sit in solitude.
They can’t stand their inner dialogue.
Why? Because that dialogue is usually negative, insecure, fear-ridden, and uncomfortable.
When I first started running, I tried to drown out that dialogue. I curated playlists. I leaned on music to push me through. But motivation dies fast — and one day, so did my headphones.
Now, luckily for me, I’ve mastered discipline. So I went out and ran 15 miles — no music, no noise — just me, my breath, and my footsteps pounding the pavement.
And that run changed everything.
What I experienced that day was a spiritual reckoning.
It scared the hell out of me — because it forced me to face myself.
It was loud. It was quiet. It was emotional.
It was a trip deeper than any pill I took Coachella could offer.
From that moment on, I never ran with music again. Between 2020 and 2024, I ran over 4,000 miles — all in complete solitude.
When you’re in it — no distractions, no artificial highs — you’re forced to listen:
To your body.
To your breath.
To your soul.
To the whispers of regret and the shouts of joy.
It’s where I met two of my closest running companions:
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
One is the voice of confidence, growth, and hope.
The other is fear, self-doubt, and darkness.
And both of them need to be heard.
I remember one 30-mile run vividly.
I was on Route 22 in Westchester, and it felt like I was running next to my body. Flow state x 1,000. Pure euphoria.
I was crying.
Crying for the gift of being a dad to my two boys.
Crying for a business I poured 10+ years into that didn’t make it.
And in that space of raw vulnerability — I found peace.
I looked down and I was already 10 miles in — and I had no idea how I got there.
Those miles? That wasn’t just a run.
That was therapy.
That was closure.
That was freedom.
Run after run, I kept unlocking flow states like that — and I never wanted them to end.
I didn’t need a fancy therapist.
I didn’t need a bootcamp.
I didn’t need a summit.
I just needed time with myself.
That’s where the healing started.
Not when I tried to “fix” everything.
But when I got honest about the fact that we’re all flawed.
All confused.
All figuring it out as we go.
And that’s okay.
The runs just happened to be my gateway.
But this post isn’t about running.
It’s about solitude.
Because when you chase that feeling — when you commit to truly spending time with you — you can heal.
You can grow.
You can fall in love with every piece of yourself: the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I will die on that hill.
Because I’ve lived it.
Thousands of hours.
Tears, sweat, solitude — and clarity.
This is the medicine.
And it works.
