Han Solo, Napoleon Solo, and Solo Cups...

Dear Maria,

Good morning—air cool, plants flourishing and grass greening, and Max had me stepping lively on the morning walk. Not sure what he thinks was the highlight of our stroll, but a wren in hot pursuit of a crow made me laugh out loud. The little guys plucking the tail feathers of larger birds always entertains me. I’ll let others mine that tidbit for any deeper significance.

Last time we talked talked, you asked some tough questions about solitude and loneliness, and of course once on my mind, I had to kick that can down the road mentally. Rather than retrace any notions on those topics from Thoreau et al, I am going to play my bell-curve gambit—yes, yes, I know might not be a topic suited for a statistical analysis, but strikes me that like most human characteristics, must be some in the population that thrive on their solitude and some that abhor the notion. And then most people mostly clustered together in some sort of middle ground.

I know a number of folks think because I live alone, it was Max who rescued me. Strikes me their concern—appreciated, of course—says as much about them as about my circumstance, and maybe more. Kind of like with retirement as there are those who still recommend with great enthusiasm what I ought to be doing with my life at this point.

For me, solitude is a choice and loneliness is not. I think a lot of us who live alone, either by choice or by circumstance or some mix of the two, will confess to moments—maybe more than a few—when we want someone else on the sofa next to us or sitting with us outside chatting about the day, or handing us the bottle of wine to pour two glasses.

Or little physical gestures of affection are missed—holding hands, a kiss on the cheek, the warmth of another person cuddled as the lights are turned off for the day.

Don’t get me started on sharing a laugh.

Sounds like I am lonely, but my solitude generally stands me in good stead for the time being. Pangs of loneliness or sorrow or longing ring out a hundred times louder than the peace of contentment that often passes without comment. Maybe a stone hurled against the Fortress of Solitude’s wall from time to time is not such a bad thing.

And don’t you know we have friends who would take a couple of days of solitude in a heartbeat.

A busy summer for you with family and friends will distract you from wondering too much about my psyche—remember, Max is ever present.

Be well, and maybe another talk talk by and by.

Yours, srk