Yesterday Logan climbed into my lap and told me he missed me when I went to Seattle. I told him I missed him, too. And I do. I also love being in Seattle. On my own.

I get this incredible rush of freedom every time I get into a car on my own. Even if I’m just going to the store, the car offers me the means to go anywhere I want. I could go to the beach, I could drive up the coast, I could…

Now multiply the freedom factor by the power of a commercial aircraft. I feel like an explorer. And being on my own gives me the opportunity to experience everything without distraction. I don’t have to worry about where the kids are or if they’ll enjoy whatever it is we’re doing. The experiences are mine: for me by me.

The irony is that while I’m basking in the raw, beautiful experience of aloneness, I’m missing the kids and Denette. Simultaneously. Even as I breathe in the biting air of Seattle and revel in the potentiality of the city, I think about how much Denette would enjoy some of the same things.

Or I spot a two-story toy store and imagine how much the kids would love running through it. I can envision their excitement as we cross the West Seattle Bridge.

Being alone is great. Having a family is better. I could never be a bachelor.


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