When maturity is defined by a highly individualistic culture, your very development progressively disconnects you from tradition or community. So for the modern artist, the more you find your own voice the more alone you are. Many writers never quite see this dual development ahead of them. But the more perceptive artist sees it coming, and it looks simultaneously like fulfillment and estrangement. It is reasonable to wonder if this can possibly be the way the universe is built, or if at least one major premise of your worldview is pathological.
Or, perhaps it is all just chemistry. In that case, what would a writer write about? And that’s the problem.