I took a long walk this morning with my dogs to a state park near my house. The gravel trail winds in and out of trees adjacent to the hudson river. I've walked these very same steps in the past with many different loved ones who have come and gone. I’ve had picnics in the field with friends who have now moved away. I’ve done yoga near the weeping willow tree as my old dog who has since passed laid in the shade. On one of the benches facing the river, I shared a first date with someone who would later become my world. On another bench a bit further down, I wrote my dad's eulogy. 

Lately, I've been trying to become more comfortable with being alone. It’s something I’m not particularly good at nor fond of. I've been fortunate to have amazing friends, caring sisters, trusting roommates and incredible significant others to walk through life with for many seasons at a time. I've had the privilege of being in lines of work that have allowed me plenty of opportunity to work directly alongside others as a close team. I've always loved to feel the joy that is togetherness.  Though there is so much value in experiencing that solidarity, I've also come to realize the importance of making time to be alone, too. And I don't just mean the literal part of being alone that is doing things without the presence of others. I mean truly finding the time and space to acknowledge introspective thoughts and find the connection with oneself on a deeper, soul-level. I've noticed lately how seldom I actually get to that place, as I am usually trying to "make the most" of my time throughout each of the days to the point that even if I am technically by myself, I don't feel it because I am still looking outward to my environment for some external escape or interest and attaching myself to that.