Solitude
In solitude, there are those who choose to be alone, and there are those who are just like him.
He spends most of his time alone in his room, and no one understands why. Those who love him want him to go outside, to act like others act, and to do what others do — but he has already tried, and came back empty-hearted. Back to solitude, where he’s neither happy nor sad, but at least his mind is busy, and he doesn’t feel bored.
His solitude is not chosen — it just happened to be the place where people who can’t find enough meaning in life find themselves in for a while. The people whose hearts feel empty by the same things that make most others feel happy. The people who feel something big is missing, but just don’t know what.
The people whom a fool may see as less fortunate — not understanding that to find the answer, you must first ask the question, and to ask the question, you must first notice that something is missing. The thing which only he noticed — and all the people who brought great things to the world before him.