Shortly after Tom and I became a couple, we took our first road trip together, from Dallas to LA for a wedding. I decided then that we had potential for forever. I could never have married a man who didn’t love a road trip; I’d been avid about them for years and taken many on my own before we met.
         In our 35 years together, Tom and I drove many miles side by side, from our home in Dallas to LA, Chicago, Florida, with lots of adventures and hijinks enroute. “Heeere we go,” we would say as we pulled out of the driveway. Some of our favorite inside jokes came from our travels. (“IT’S A MULE DEER!!!” Yeah, OK, I know . . . you had to be there.)
But in May 2020, at age 59, Tom died of a heart attack. I was suddenly on the road alone.
         I took my first road trip as a widow about four months after losing Tom, trying to flee the sadness of home. I drove to New Mexico, where I have many friends. As usual, I broke the drive into two legs, spending the night in Amarillo.
        That night, alone in a hotel room, was among hardest of my life. Although I’d traveled alone even after I was married, knowing now that there was no one back home to check in with felt uniquely dreadful. I felt adrift and untethered, and not in a free-and-easy way. It was storming that night, and the rain-smeared view of the highway and hotel neon outside my window about broke my heart. I had never felt so lonely.
         The rest of the trip, while sad and contemplative, was easier, as I always had friends nearby, although they gave me respectful space as well. And at some point during that trip I decided that what I needed was a travel dog—a wingdog, so to speak. Ours had been a childfree but dog-full household, although it had been several years since we’d said tearful good-bye to ol’ Jack. He was a good dog. Now another dog sounded just right. Someone to talk to in the car and hear breathing at night. Someone to hike with and learn to camp with. A sentient body to hug.
         Enter Daisy, 65 pounds of supermodel-gorgeous looks: black-and-white with a muscular build and eyes that see deep into your soul. She was two years old when I got her, a rescue. She had recently birthed and nursed 13 puppies, just completed heartworm treatment, and was weak and underweight. We bonded immediately, one sad lady with another.
Daisy is not an easy dog; she’s anxious and, like many rescues, came preloaded with complicated issues that I’ve been working hard on (with the help of professionals). But for the most part, Daisy is obedient, easy to train, mostly mellow, and she likes hugs. She’s a great dog. In many ways, we are two peas in a pod: both introverted, moody, and inclined toward quiet solitude. Though she has no use for anyone else, Daisy trusts and is devoted to me. The feeling is mutual.
        Road tripping with Daisy requires as much paraphernalia as traveling with a toddler and entails many considerations, compromises and expenses. I won’t lie: I sometimes wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Being footloose is a lot harder when you’re responsible for another creature. I travel with her crate, a bed, her rug, a tether for campsites, her food and snacks, and more. Not all accommodations allow dogs, many that do have a weight limit that Daisy exceeds, and most charge extra. Stopping at roadside attractions can be tricky-to-impossible. If the weather permits (a k a not too hot or cold), I’ll leave her in the car for a while, but not a whole museum’s-worth of time.
       Sometimes I do board her—to visit friends, for example. I learned this early on when we stayed with friends in Nashville who had a nice, large, fenced yard. We put Daisy out there while we visited, and she destroyed their screen door trying to get back to me. They were good sports about it, but now I’m more likely to board her for visits or stay in in dog-friendly short-term rentals, motels, and campgrounds. And I don’t leave Daisy alone unless she’s crated.
          For the most part, though, travel with Daisy is fun. On the road she mostly snoozes in the back seat, but it makes me smile to see her head pop up from time to time as she checks out the passing scene. We share snacks; nothing wakes her faster than the rustle of cellophane. If I leave her in the car at a rest area to run to the bathroom, she watches for me from the window and smiles when she spots me.
          Traveling alone I can get road greedy, trying to cover as many miles as possible. Traveling with Tom required us both to agree on impromptu stops, which we only managed occasionally. Daisy and I stop and step out of the car often to stretch our legs, take in new views, and sniff stuff (Daisy, obviously). We’ve become rest area aficionados, both the big fancy ones and the weird little ones that are nothing but a few picnic tables and a trash can by a cornfield. Daisy is strong and extremely protective (to a fault, actually), and with her I feel empowered to stop when the whim hits me, even if it’s the middle of nowhere. I like those neither-here-nor-there places and moments.  
         Taking her for walks wherever I’m staying gives me a new view of my surroundings. In Tucson, we were a couple of blocks from a pretty, friendly dog park, which we visited every morning. If I want to do dog-free things, I leave her crated in my short-term rental (better for dog travel than hotels), which doesn’t bother her in the least. I’ve also used doggie daycare, such as when I stopped for several hours at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art en route to Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas. I did the same to spend a day tooling around North Carolina with friends and family. The daycare/kennel I use at home is a franchise, which makes it easy to share records proving she’s had all her shots and is cool with other dogs.
          If I just need a place to crash for a night, I’ve learned which motel chains allow pets free. And as a special road trip treat, I let Daisy sleep on the bed in motels, which she doesn’t get to do at home. Other travel treats include occasional hamburgers or ice cream cones. We all deserve road trip indulgences; Tom liked beef jerky, I’m into gummy bears. Daisy can eat a McDonald’s burger in two bites.
         We’re learning to camp, too, which I’ve always wanted to do but Tom and I never got around to. Truthfully, I don’t think Daisy is crazy for camping and does it only to humor me. (Also, she has no choice.) The first time we camped was on a dusty flat in Amarillo. A huge wind kicked up in the middle of the night and set everything shaking, including Daisy. We finished the night in the car. Our first night in Petit Jean State Park, I built a campfire and pulled up a chair. Daisy gave it a glance and retired to the tent to sleep. (Not unlike Tom, who also liked an early bedtime.) The last time we camped, in the San Juan National Forest, she dug a hole under the picnic table and spent most of her time hanging out there. I have decided she is enjoying the experience her own way, and I’m fine with it. I like her company and protection. I do wish she could help set up a tent though. Some things are objectively more difficult alone.  
         Daisy does like to hike, and she’s an exceptional hiking companion. My sense of direction is pathetic, hers (like Tom’s) is infallible. On a hike outside Boulder, an equally direction-impaired friend and I found ourselves at the confluence of several trails. We stood for several minutes, peering at maps on our phones trying to figure out the way back to the car while Daisy stood at the correct trail, looking back at us with patient bafflement. Her route across dry river stones in Dinosaur Valley State Park in Texas was inarguably the best way for us to get where we were going; I saw her consider each decision before choosing the stones that would provide the surest footing.
         And most importantly Daisy is my buddy. Widowhood is a state of existential loneliness, and while Daisy can’t fill the vast Tom-shaped hole in my life, she is a living creature to whom my presence matters greatly, and she’s got my back. She’s a comforting snore at night, and in the morning, she smiles and wags and insists on cuddles that I am happy to give her. She makes lonely hotel rooms less lonely, is fun and photogenic on hikes, lets me choose the music in the car, and insures I don’t have to eat the whole bag of pretzels by myself. And she’s someone to say “Heeere we go” to as we pull out of the driveway.  

Well--I reached the point where I'd said everything I could think of about introversion, so now I've moved on to another subject--one I'd really rather not have to write about but life doesn't always give us choices. 
Please visit my new blog, Widow's Walk, in which I will dive into the world-changing, major bummer, unavoidable life crisis of losing a loved one. 
If you're grieving, you may find insight or comfort. If you know someone who is grieving, it will help you understand better.
And you know, of course, that none of us gets through life without loss. So if you haven't experienced it yet--you will. 

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It’s been 12 years since my first post for my blog The Introverts’ Corner went live. Perhaps you’ve seen the “Introverts Unite” meme that makes the rounds periodically. Well, I’m just petty enough to point out that I said it first in my first post, “Introverts Unite, Quietly,” on August 26, 2009.

When I started the blog, few people were writing about introversion; even Susan Cain’s blockbuster book Quiet was years away, as was my book The Introvert's Way. Today scores of professional introverts are out there expounding on our quiet nature. The introvert-positive movement has matured.

In truth, I’m not sure I have anything new to say about introversion at this point, so I decided it’s time to wind things in the Introverts’ Corner. While the blog will remain up and I may add to it from time to time, I will be starting a new blog on Psychology Today exploring the most cataclysmic event of my life: being widowed.  

Before the shut the blog down, I decided to revisit some of the most popular posts of the past dozen years, a sort of primer on life in the Introverts’ Corner.

What is introversion?
Many of us find that we must still explain to people that introversion is not the same as shyness—you can be shy and not an introvert and you can be an introvert and not shy. Understanding this difference is important as I discussed with researcher Jonathan Cheek in "All Introversion Is Not the Same" and with Louis A. Schmidt in “Introversion vs. Shyness: The Discussion Continues." Introversion is also not the same thing as social anxiety, although I theorize that introverts may develop social anxiety because we so often go into social situations believing that we must behave in a way counter to our nature. So I interviewed psychologist Ellen Hendriksen for “Four Strategies to Help Conquer Social Anxiety.”

To people or not to people
Introversion is also not misanthropy. Most of us don’t hate people. In fact, “I Like People, Just Not All of Them All the Time.” I firmly believe that people need people; I certainly do, and in “Why Introverts Don’t Always Want to Be Alone” I wrote about my favorite ways to socialize. Remember: Being introverted in no ways insulates us from loneliness. In a way, it can make us more susceptible, as I discussed in “Introverts and the Loneliness Loop.” Besides, if you sequester yourself from others, you have to ask yourself: “Will People Be There for You When You Need Them?” Of course, meeting new people to make friends isn’t always easy, especially when you prefer not to leave the house, so I polled readers for ideas in “Survey Says: How to Meet New People.”

Then there are parties…
A lot of introverts would be perfectly happy to never attend another party in their lives. And that’s fine. Parties are supposed to be fun and for that reason, they are entirely optional. (Although my friendship philosophy includes the credo “Friends attend friends’ parties.”) I don’t mind parties within reason, but I like them more when I hew to these “Party Survival Tactics for Introverts.” And while yes, a drink or two can help me loosen up for a party, introverts can be at risk for overindulging in order to party the way society claims we should. I consulted two experts for “Introverts and Parties: Just Add Alcohol?”

When you need to not people
You don’t actually owe anyone an explanation of your introvert needs, but sometimes it can help smooth the way when you need quiet time. I have suggestions in “What to Say When You Need Some Alone Time.” And it can’t hurt to let them know how not-fun you will be if you don’t get the downtime you need; send them “When Introverts Get Overextended."

Staying in touch
Realizing that loathing the telephone is not the moral failing some would imply and that many introverts share the horror is one of the most satisfying epiphanies for people learning about their own introversion. (I know it was for me.) It seems the rest of the world is coming around to our way of thinking—research finds that these days, phones are mostly used for everything but making phone calls. “Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You…Well, No, Actually We Won’t” has been one of the most popular posts on this blog. How better to stay in touch? I used to be very email-y, but these days, I’m all about texting and explain why in "In Defense of Texting." And the disclaimer: I prefer face-to-face to any of these other forms of communication.

Speaking of relationships
I’ve written a lot about mixed relationships—“Introverts and Extroverts in Love” is an overview of some of the things that can crop up in introvert-extrovert relationships. And here are “5 Essential Tips for Introvert-Extrovert Couples" for you, and “The Conversation Introvert-Extrovert Couples Need to Have.” And if you have questions about the relationship you’re in as it relates to your introversion, here are some “Romance Red Flags” to consider.

Different, not better
I don’t blame introverts for being cranky; many of us have heard for most of our lives that extroversion is better. It even, allegedly, means we’re happier. (I debate that point in “Is Our Definition of Happiness Extrovert Centric?”) ) We have been historically misunderstood by people who just don’t see things our way, but I give them a glimpse in “Seeing Life Through Introvert Eyes.” Nevertheless, I am no more a fan of introverts claiming superiority than I am of extroverts doing so, which is one reason I consulted my Board of Extroverts to write “Why Are Extroverts So Needy?” Yes, it can be incredibly annoying to have extroverts try to drag us onto the dance floor, literally or metaphorically, but we don’t really own the high ground—here are “5 Ways Introverts Can Be Annoying.” In fact, we’re not even always good to ourselves, as I explore in “Mistakes Introverts Make.” So in the interest of hands across the water, here are “7 Things Extroverts Should Know About Introverts (and Vice-Versa).”

You have your say
And finally, I loved hearing from introverts in the wild who had advice for being the best introvert you can be in “Wise Words From Fellow Introverts.”

Thanks, everyone who has joined me in the corner all these years. There's lots more to explore in the archives of the blog. It’s been swell talking to you and learning from you. Go forth and live your best introvert life. Quietly.

Yeah, I've been kind of quiet for a while, in part because I've been focusing on editing instead of writing. I'll find new ways to bring you new news. I'm not dead or anything, just not feeling as interesting as I once did. 

So what's with the subject line? No, Issac and I are not an item, but one of the books I copy edited last year was his thoroughly enjoyable and engaging book, I.M.: A Memoir. It's now available, and I recommend it. 

As you might have guessed from the title, this is the story of Isaac's life, from childhood, learning style from his stylish mom, to all the glamour that is his life today, including all the ups and downs in between. Isaac's distinctive voice comes through clearly--reading the book is like having him in the room, regaling you with his inner and outer life.

What made this book particularly fun for me is that Isaac is just a few years younger than I, and we grew up running around the same neighborhoods in New York City around the same years and with similar arty farty drama club friends. So this book was like reliving my formative years with someone who ultimately got formed a little better than I did; that's why he's writing memoirs and I'm editing them. So if you've ever wondered what it was like to grow up an arty kid in New York City in the 1970s, Isaac paints a damn good picture. And if you've ever wondered what it's like to live among the glitterati, he paints a good picture of that, too, although it's not all pretty. 

I thoroughly enjoyed editing this book, and now that it's in bookstores, I'm probably going to reading it again. 
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The Boston Avenue United Methodist Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma is a masterpiece of art deco. It's also the subject of an ongoing squabble between two factions. One claims that the church was the brainchild of art teacher Adah Robinson, the other that it could only be the work of her one-time student and later prominent architect, Bruce Goff. I didn't come up with the definitive answer in my story for PreservationNation, but I have my suspicions.

I found the Watson Rare Native Plant Preserve almost by accident. And then I learned about the remarkable woman behind it. Read my story from the Sierra website here.

I also wrote about preserving the preserve for PreservationNation.

I learned all sorts of things I didn't know about my chosen home on a tour of historic sites in North Dallas. Read about it here. 

I've been teased for taking notes by hand instead of on my telephone, like the cool kids do, but it turns out there are all kinds of benefits to taking notes by hand instead of on a keyboard. I wrote about this for Success magazine.

People naturally throw up defenses in the face of distressing information. Getting past defense mechanisms to get them to change their behavior for the sake of the planet is difficult. I interviewed psychologist Renee Lertzman for Sierra magazine about how she thinks conservation organizations need to adjust their message.  Read it here.

My last glorious trip was to the Amazon basin in Peru, and I wrote about it for The Dallas Morning News. Read all about it here.