When I was seven years-old, my family (mostly my father) decided that we should move 50 miles away from everyone we knew, everyone who had been with me since birth, and every place that had filled me with inspiration and a sense of home. And all of this happened in three days. On Friday afternoon, I was playing on the streets of Brooklyn. On Monday morning, I was standing silently in front of a new home, in shock and no doubt looking like a lawn ornament to all those passing by.

I was well and truly alone for the first time in my young life. I wish I could say that it was a learning experience. A time when me and myself really got to know one another. In fact though, it felt more like the withdrawal symptoms of a heroin addict. I was bereft of all the sounds and sights of a vibrant city that nurtured my imagination and provided a backdrop for all the interesting worlds I was apt to create on any given day.

As a child, I was not part of the relocation committee, no one asked me if I cared. I was, for all intents and purposes, part of the furniture. They didn’t store me in the van for the 50 mile journey, but they might as well have. I arrived like a package dropped on the porch by UPS, wondering why I was there and what had I done to deserve it.

Obviously your article made me think, I enjoyed it. Loneliness and being alone are two completely different states of being. I like being alone, spending time with the person I am closest with. We have fun together. But loneliness … That sense of sadness that rises up from within, when we are separated from those we love. Not just physically but spiritually as well. When disagreement pushes us apart and we stand on either side of rift that wasn’t there moments before and probably won’t be there tomorrow morning. That’s something I have never gotten used to.

Thanks for writing this.