I've been a lone wolf for a long time. A few friends across the country, not close to family, kids are grown. I'm used to it. Settled. But there's still those random moments at 4:30am, the heart of the witching hour, when I wake from a really bad dream and stare at the ceiling, trying to find my bearings while convincing myself it was, in fact, only a dream.
The feeling of being completely alone in this world can be overwhelming, and the lone wolf life isn't so comfortable and appealing. The desire to reach over and touch someone who cares for me, who will pull me into him, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and safety, becomes an insatiable craving that cannot be matched by a badge of strength and a "warrior" title. I was given that designation because of the things I've survived, praised for my strength in choosing to face the world alone for the sake of sanity and a hope for happiness, for refusing to settle. But in that very moment of unrest, however fleeting it may be, laying in the middle of a king-sized sleigh bed, I don't care about strength and successful independence ... I want the big spoon cocoon.