What Solitude Taught Me About Success
Sometimes the quietest seasons are the ones that shape us the most.
In 2019, I left behind what many might call the dream life, a high-paying tech job in chip design, where I even wrote AI-generated Verilog code before AI was a buzzword. Back then, automation was more function than trend, and I was deep in it. But something inside me yearned for more, a different kind of intelligence. Not artificial, but emotional, human, entrepreneurial.
So I moved to London with a vision: to understand the language of business, finance, and entrepreneurship, not just in theory, but in practice. To live it.
What I didn’t anticipate was how much solitude would become a part of that journey.
Endless walks through grey streets. Dinners where the only conversation was with my own thoughts. A constant battle between ambition and anxiety. It was far from glamorous, but it was deeply transformative.
There were countless moments when I felt like giving up. When the weight of uncertainty felt heavier than the promise of the future. But something always kept me going, a quiet conviction that this season of solitude was preparing me for something greater.
As part of that journey, I became friends with strangers I never thought I’d get along with. And I lost people I was certain would stay forever. But that’s life.
A big part of growing up, as Simon Sinek shares in his latest podcast with Steven Bartlett, is learning to say goodbye. Goodbye to the little things: your clothes, your most-loved possessions. And also to people. Not all goodbyes come with closure, but each one carves out space for who you’re becoming.
Solitude has this way of holding up a mirror. There’s no one to perform for, no distractions to numb the uncertainty. Just you, your fears, and your vision. And in that silence, something surprising happened, I began to grow.
I learned to be patient. Not the kind of patience you read about in self-help books, but the hard-earned kind, the one that comes from weathering internal storms and choosing to keep showing up anyway.
I learned to stay calm under pressure. To make decisions even when clarity was a luxury. To keep faith in the unseen progress that was slowly taking shape beneath the surface.
Eventually, I started my enterprise. It wasn’t born out of a moment of brilliance. It was shaped over time, in solitude, in discomfort, in trust.
Today, I’m still learning. Still growing. But I carry with me a quiet kind of confidence. One built not on noise, but on the strength that solitude gave me.
I wouldn’t change any part of that journey.
Because what solitude taught me… success couldn’t.
