The human capacity for adaptation never ceases to amaze me. Okay, so maybe not never. I mean, I don't spend all my waking hours in raptures over it, but it does occur to me every now and again how spiffy we are.

I could go on about the subject in a general fashion for a paragraph or two, but really, we know where I'm going with this. Yep. I'm going to be talking about me. Again.

What's got me thinking about this is what a solitary person I used to be. I was the kid who during recess and lunch would find a convenient tree to hang out under while I read a book. I tended to avoid other kids because frankly? They were pretty dang nasty, and I just didn't know how to cope with the taunting and torture that went on whenever an adult wasn't on the scene. I was a loner, and in many ways that held true for much of my life.

I had a handful of friends, of course, I wasn't completely socially bereft. But I wasn't much for reaching out. I didn't start conversations even. I kind of let myself be swept along, trying to escape the press of people and retreat to my sanctuary of solitude whenever possible.

Later in life I made some friends who pushed me into being socialble. There's even one gal who'd show up at my doorstep to say if I didn't come willingly she'd kidnap me and force me to have a life. Good times. Good times. If it hadn't been for her I wouldn't have met Neil, that's for certain.

Once married, I still struggled with my yearning to be alone. When Neil went away I'd miss him like crazy, but I'd be glad to recapture the loveliness of my alone time. As the years went by and the quiet confidence instilled in me by a loving husband and my first true best friend (among others) bloomed, I started to enjoy people. A lot. Neil and I took to having people over for dinner as our primary hobby. And we thrived on our quiet social life.

I've taken that a step beyond since we moved here to this small community in the North. I've put myself out there, tossing inhibitions aside with reckless abandon, being almost wholly entirely myself even upon first meeting people. It's been delightful and exhilarating. And apparently, mildly addictive.

The last month or two have been strange for me. Summer is unsettling. I've never liked it. On top of that we've been struggling in a few ways. The miscarriage. Illness. Neil's many, many obligations. I feel disconnected from my friends here. The phone seems to have stopped ringing in recent weeks and I feel kind of bereft.

I've gotten used to having a social life, and it kind of slipped away from me. And I miss it. And I find a hysterical sort of laughter bubbling up within me at this realization. How much I have changed. How much I have adapted to a life full of people and laughter.

And how very, very lonely I suddenly find myself feeling.

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