Maybe I’m a lone wolf.

Recently, I argued with my wife, and she said how comfortable I am being a lone wolf.

For one thing, in the last two years, we’ve had to spend quite a bit of time apart because of our kids. It’s a long story, and I wasn’t the one to initiate this stretch, but it happened.

Secondly, I consistently advocate for a more minimalistic lifestyle, even with a large family. We have four kids, and our parents are also with us now.

She says I underestimated the responsibility that comes with having four kids. I tell her I never underestimated it. I just never imagined our household and lives would need to be so complicated.

Anyway, the point of this story is not to go into the details of our debate. The truth is probably in the middle.

But I reflected on the lone wolf label. I even looked up the concept on Wikipedia.

I love spending time with my kids. As I’m writing this, my two sons are sitting near me. We’re joking about various things. I just spent some time in the gym with my oldest son, and I’m about to walk to a local grocery store with my younger one. Not that it’s a huge deal — this errand to get an ice cream — but I like these moments.

I like having a large family.

But, God, do I also like being alone! Even during my teenage years, when solitude meant loneliness, I felt at peace being alone. I felt mellow, sentimental, and even sad. But I knew how to be on my own.