At the empty nest turning point of middle age, something arose in me, and my journal became full of entries about being alone. I discovered that two entries written 10 years apart were almost identical. I had not yet learned to dignify "alone" with the name of Solitude, but I knew what I wanted, what I needed—as if my life was depriving me of something as essential as the air I breathed.
There is no there anywhere, no destination, only ways through, passages, resting spots, doors that swing open to where a vision is hammered out, painted, written, sung or prayed behind the facade of the common.
~ from ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE by Marv and Nancy Hiles
