  You might be tempted to idealize solitude, like my colleague Lucy, who says that to think about what she will do with her life she must light candles and go up on a mountaintop. Will she carry the candles, or leave them behind? Surely she said light candles and then ascend the mountain!
I imagine her as St. Lucia, in a white robe, walking up a snow capped mountain wearing a garland of ivy and daisies. The flame is not affected by her wind nor the increasing altitude, just as her bare feet are not affected by the thick snow. Upon reaching the summit, she raises her arms and embraces a silver-lined vision of what her life will bring. Invariably, she finds herself rich and slightly angry. Welcome to my mountaintop, right here in my apartment. I'm experiencing solitude of the kind I count days in double digits until I will see someone I know apart from the grocery. Yet, I can hear my upstairs neighbors as if they are in the room with me. For the first time in my life, living here with the windows open, I am reminded that I live along a busy street in a large city.
My only friend has made it clear that solitude should be embraced, not shunned, meaning his company will not be meaningless filler for my summer. And then there is the cat, who never seems to want to be around me when I'm willing to pet her, but will instead play with my toes while I am typing or sniff around my supper plate. So, in the immortal words of Michael Jackson, "You are not alone. " The kids are wrestling upstairs. 
