I am having an angsty day. I miss my kids. They're off doing their lives and I haven't seen either one for days. I need to get used to this, as this is how it will be more and more, now that they no longer live under my roof. My daughter was cranky with me on the phone this morning, which upset me. I'm too pushy sometimes. My son wasn't cranky with me, but he was upset about another thing, about which I could do nothing to help, so that left me feeling crappy too. I am feeling as if I have very little in my life other than my work, which isn't exactly true, but that's how it feels at this moment—as if everyone is out living their super interesting and connected lives, and I'm in this room, sitting at this desk, alone. Don't get me wrong; I am grateful to have work. But sometimes in this city, people get so caught up in navigating their all-consuming imperatives, it can get very lonely. That's how it feels right now. I also have two loved ones waiting for a diagnosis that could go either way. Their worry certainly contributes to the world seeming gray. I pray they are okay. This is a weird age and stage. We get ailments, and sometimes they are serious. We feel lonely. I was talking to one of my other friends last week. She was telling me about her plan to spend some weeks in Berlin this summer, living in an Airbnb and making art in a studio she's rented. She is looking forward to it, but fears she will be lonely. We fantasized about me joining her in Berlin for a couple of weeks, renting an Airbnb near to hers, the two of us working on our projects during the day, and then getting together to sip wine in cafes come evening. It sounds divine. And really, one can write anywhere. I'm thinking about it. But can I really be the kind of person who, now that my children are raised, kisses her sweet prince of a husband goodbye and takes off to the continent to write? I'm thinking right now that it might be creatively inspiring to be lonely in a different place, even for a little while.