I spend a lot of nights alone. As I sit here at my fluorescent-lit, formica-topped Hampton Inn desk listening to the air conditioner buzz, I find myself ensconced in yet again one more hotel room in a blurry long line of hotel rooms. I wonder about the fellow travelers hived around me. Is their experience like mine? Are they at home among the silk plants and plain-vanilla bird prints that feebly attempt to offer some succor to the credit-card homeless? Does the business of business numb them more effectively than it numbs me?
Don’t get me wrong. It only reads like I’m grumbling. I chose this life and while I might hate little pieces of it, I love the whole. I’ve been a road warrior so long that I can honestly say that I’ve wondered whether heaven comes with room service. Is there HBO?
Alone comes in many flavors. At home, after a frazzling day, few things are sweeter or more rejuvenating than some alone time. In a crowd - especially a crowd of boisterous friends - alone is a little bit awkward and embarrassing. Ironically, warmth and attention don’t help much; they just make me feel ungracious, like someone with a terminal illness who squirms at compassion. And then there’s motel alone.