Last night, I surprised my Nana, who has lived alone in a condo since my grandfather passed away almost 17 years ago, with a visit.
“How are you doing?” she asked as she tried to distract me from the cocktail glass full of Bud Lite she had been sipping on in the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Caleb left for Asia today, so I’m a little sad.”
“Why are you sad?” she said.
“I don’t know, I’m just feeling lonely.”
“Oh come on,” she scoffed. “Please. I could tell you a thing or two about that.”
But she didn’t say it with any self-pity. She said it more like, when you live alone, you can do things like drink Bud Lite out of a cocktail glass, watch To Catch A Predator, and have dinner with your Jewish friend Beverley without feeling guilty. Loneliness, in other words, can be a luxury.