When Connection Feels Too Heavy

When Connection Feels Too Heavy

A quiet reflection from the road — about solitude, empathy, and the space between connection and burnout.
by Oscar Matos Linares

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I’ve been pulling away from other artists — especially the ones I’ve known for years through the art-fair circuit. It’s not that I dislike anyone or that I’ve suddenly lost interest. It’s more like something inside me just doesn’t have the energy anymore.

You spend decades on the road, setting up before sunrise, tearing down after dark, living from one show to the next — and somewhere along the way, the people around you start to feel like family. But lately, I find myself keeping to my booth, not walking around, not joining the group dinners or long conversations. And I keep asking myself why.

I think part of it is just exhaustion — the emotional kind. Between taking care of my mom, dealing with my van breaking down, watching art sales and installation jobs drop… it wears on you. Then you add everything else happening in the world — the anger, the division, people celebrating others’ pain — and it just gets heavy.

I’ve always been an empathetic person. I feel things deeply, even when they’re not mine. I see what’s happening around me and I carry it. But lately, that same empathy that used to help me connect now feels like it drains me. Even being around good people can feel overwhelming when you’re already tired inside.

And then there’s this quiet voice that says, “Just stop. Be still for a while.”
Maybe that’s what I’m doing without realizing it — just listening to that voice. I used to think silence meant something was wrong, but now I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe this is just my way of healing.

When I photograph before first light, there’s this small moment when the world hasn’t started moving yet — no noise, no distractions. That’s when I find the reflections that mean the most to me. I think that same kind of stillness is what I’m searching for right now, not with the camera, but with myself.

It’s strange because for so many years, I defined myself by the art fairs — the long drives, the crowds, the collectors, the other artists. That life gave me purpose and connection. But lately, it feels like my purpose is changing. I don’t want to perform being okay anymore. I want to feel okay, even if that means stepping away for a bit.

And maybe that’s what this is — not disconnection, but re-centering. I’m not rejecting anyone. I’m just trying to protect what little peace I have left until I can rebuild more of it.

I know at some point I’ll return to the rhythm of conversation, the laughter, the old friends, the long weekends under the tents. But when I do, I want it to come from a genuine place — not because I feel I should show up, but because I want to again.

For now, I’m giving myself permission to be quiet, to listen, to let new energy find me. I think solitude, like art, isn’t a problem to fix — it’s a stage to move through.

So, if you’ve felt this too — that sense of pulling away, of needing space — just know you’re not alone. Sometimes distance isn’t rejection. Sometimes it’s just the space where you finally start to breathe again.