Sometimes, late at night, visited by dread and shame, I lie in bed and think about somebody else’s life. I imagine the love that they’re getting, and the relief that comes from being really known. The private pleasures they share. The friends they have and the pressures they don’t. Their sense of importance. The satisfactions of their work. I imagine how fulfilled they are, how rich their life is. And in these moments, I feel empty and wanting.

Sometimes I think about someone else’s life. I imagine all the love they do not have. I see the passion that’s missing, the friends they don’t know, and the awful pressures that crush them. In those moments, I realize how much I have. And how much I have to give.