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"Flying solo"—a phrase once meant to inspire independence and self-reliance, to inspire individuals to be strong and confident —has, in recent years, morphed into a misunderstood mantra. Born from the aviation world, where a pilot flies alone without a co-pilot or crew, it once signified strength, confidence and maturity. But somewhere along the way, this empowering notion has been stretched and twisted, adopted by individuals as an all-encompassing justification for isolation, detachment, and, in some cases, emotional avoidance and even accountability.
What was once about self-discovery has, in so many cases, become a veiled rejection of vulnerability and connection. The idea of flying solo has gone too far when it stops being about embracing independence and starts promoting the illusion that needing others—or allowing oneself to be needed—is a weakness. It’s no longer just about finding oneself. It’s become, alarmingly, a licence to shut people out, to not allow vulnerability or feel the love that may include fear of losing someone, of opening oneself up to the other and allowing oneself to undergo changes that help both grow and help strengthen the relationship and the connection deeper and more intimate.
This distortion is partly fueled by a culture that glorifies hyper-independence. Social media is brimming with posts that shout “I don’t need anyone!” or “Me, myself, and I forever.” or "This is me and that's how I've been, that's how I am and will always be, no matter what!" The rise of the lone-wolf archetype has created a façade that total self-sufficiency is not only ideal but superior and "healthier". But real life isn't a filtered Instagram reel or a cinematic solo adventure. Human beings are inherently social creatures.To have a balanced and peaceful life, human beings need other human beings. While solitude can be healing, permanent emotional isolation is not empowerment—it's a survival response dressed up as strength.
Flying solo originally celebrated stepping into one’s own power—choosing to travel alone, live alone, or make bold life decisions without waiting for a green light from others. It was about trusting your gut, building confidence, and proving to yourself that you could do hard things. But when this concept is interpreted as an all-encompassing lifestyle, cutting off meaningful relationships in the name of “solo flight,” it becomes less about strength and more about fear—fear of vulnerability, of disappointment, of interdependence. Moreover, the desire for fly solo is just a huge opportunity for transformation, for growth that is missed, gone.
Let’s not confuse emotional walls with boundaries. There’s a critical difference between choosing solitude and avoiding intimacy. The former comes from a place of peace and clarity; the latter is often rooted in past trauma or disillusionment. When “flying solo” becomes an excuse to not trust, not share, not open up, or not risk anything emotionally, it shifts from empowering to damaging. Real intimacy may require shedding the old skin for the new to be developed.
There’s also a danger in romanticizing the lone hero narrative too much. Movies, books, and media often glorify the lone wanderer—the one who walks away from love, community, or partnership to “find themselves.” While these stories can be inspiring, they rarely show the long-term emotional cost. Real empowerment is about having the choice to walk alone, but also the wisdom to know when it’s time to walk with others.
We’re seeing the effects of this shift in real time. More people report feeling lonelier than ever before. Depression is becoming real. Frendships are harder to maintain, many a time toxic too with a sugar coating of health or flirting. Individuals may develop certain associations to be able to just get the benefits that come from a combination of friendship and relationship but avoiding commitment due to fear and the fake strength of flying solo.
Romantic relationships are increasingly seen as distractions from career, from following dreams, from a good or happy life or seen as burdens rather than opportunities for growth and connection. Some wear their solitude like armour, not realizing that their "strength" might actually be a symptom of unaddressed pain. And behind many “I work better alone” and “I don't do relationships” declarations is a deeper meaning begging to be told, a deeper wound waiting to be healed.
It’s important to reclaim the original intention of flying solo—not as a permanent stance, but as a phase, a choice, or a tool for self-knowledge. There is power in solitude, yes. There is clarity in stillness and distance. But life is also meant to be shared. There is beauty in interdependence. There is strength in being able to say, “I can do this on my own, but I choose not to.” There is power in choosing to be vulnerable, in being caring and doing life with another, with sharing interests, activities and moments amidst the chaos and storms too.
Healthy independence means knowing you can stand on your own, but understanding the value of letting others in. It means saying no when something doesn’t serve you—but also saying yes when something (or someone) enriches your life and helps you grow and rise spiritually. Flying solo should never be about building walls so high that no one can reach you. Rather build a home, with doors that open selectively, that open to doors that matter and that bring you peace and growth, in the short and long term. It should be about learning who you are so you can show up more fully in relationships when you're ready, when you're ready for giving and receiving, for doing and for the healing when another does for you.
The motto has gone too far when it teaches people that isolation is a badge of honour. It has gone too far when it makes people feel guilty or weak for wanting connection. It has gone too far when it becomes a justification for avoiding hard conversations, deep feelings, or healthy dependencies.
In the end, “flying solo” should remain what it was always meant to be—a phase of growth, a space for reflection, a flight to remember. But even the best pilots land eventually. They refuel. They connect with the ground crew. They prepare for the next leg of the journey, sometimes with others onboard.
Because life isn’t just about the solo flights. It’s about knowing when to fly alone—and when to welcome someone into the cockpit.