It seems much simpler to carve solitude out of presence than to build presence out of absence. The truth is this: I will always want to live life in the presence of others. I will always want to come home, to open the metaphorical door, and walk in to a pileup of too many people on the metaphorical couch. I will want this, even when I’m buried at the bottom of the couch pile, annoyed at everyone, last nerve frayed, rolling my eyes, grumbling to be left alone.