It hasn’t always been the case that I’ve enjoyed being with me. For years and years, until the not-too-distant past, I believed that being alone with myself meant that something was very, very wrong with me. And so I did all sorts of things to avoid having to spend time with myself. For one thing, I chose to be around people who didn’t particularly want me to be myself, either. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to have a career, or why I wanted to do other things together besides Netflix & Chill, or why sometimes I didn’t particularly want to spend time with them at all. So I guess what I’m saying is that it was ultimately pretty uncomfortable being with those people, too. So you know what I finally did? I decided to enjoy being with me. These days, I don’t feel anxious anymore when I’m driving home from work on a night when my kids are with their dad. I used to dread that solitude like I was being forced to hang out with a sworn enemy! Now, I can take myself to the gym and enjoy an unhurried workout (with me). Now, I can spend hours (with me) making postcards and fiddling around with this virtual Universe of True Love. Now, I can take leisurely walks with just me my dog, and let him lead. But I know what you might be thinking, dear reader: that spending time with other people doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing proposition. After all, plenty of people enjoy their own time, then make room for socializing as they see fit. What I would say to that, though, is that I’m still getting to know myself, even at my advanced age! And I’m finding out just how shy I am… how sensitive I am… and how much I need this time with me, to feel good about existing in my own skin again. ❤️‍🔥— Y.B.D.