Lots of people are starting to ask me how I will fare when Maria heads off Sunday for two weeks in Kolkata, India. I can sense some are worried about me, they have started to ask me if I will be lonely.

It’s an interesting question, and I have to say, I don’t really have an answer, at least not a complete one. I sure know what it means to be lonely.

Maria and I are very close, and we both have drawn great strength and encouragement from one another. I remember when I began to break down in 2008, I was lying on the bathroom floor in an Austin hotel on a book tour vomiting and shaking, I was so terrified. It was 2 a.m. back home, and Maria got on the phone and talked me back down.

She talked me back to life, that night, and ever since.

I can’t count how many panic attacks we each got the other through during our dark days. Anne Dambrowski, our friend and bookkeeper walked into my office this morning and said this year, I was the sanest since she met me nearly a decade ago. I told her Maria was the reason for that, for that matter, so was Anne.

How do you gauge missing someone like that?

I know I will miss Maria. I already do, just at the thought of her not being here, I’m beginning to withdraw and gather myself in preparation. I will miss her in bed, we sleep all curled up like two octopuses. I will miss her working on the fiber chair, seeing her greet her beloved animals in the morning, ferrying out gourmet leftovers for the chickens, cuddling up with Minnie on the sofa, calling me in great excitement to show me a new quilt she had made.

Maria is filled with love and generosity  and kindness, how could I not miss that.

Yet, I believe in aloneness, I know loneliness well – I was alone on the first Bedlam Farm for nearly six years, it is a natural thing for me. I was alone every minute of my life for most of my life, especially when young. I lived in terror and shame and had no idea how to connect with people. It is still a problem for me.

I met the writer Hunter Thompson once, when I was writing for Rolling Stone magazine.  He had a very deep and wise philosophical streak, and I remember him saying that we are all alone.

Born alone, die alone, and in many ways, we are alone the whole way. I think there is much truth in that, for all that I adore Maria and will miss her.

Loneliness is, in a sense, my natural state. It is this wonderful time that is strange to me. Thompson shared one value that is very strong in me, and that is the need for loneliness and solitude.

This is what makes self-respect so important, and I don’t know how I can ever respect myself if I must look to other people for wisdom and happiness and approval. My happiness must come from within. My life is not an argument.

In a very important sense, this journey to India is an affirmation, for both of us. It is Maria’s trip, not mine, I really have nothing much to do with it, and should not be a part of it. This is her show, her circus, her time in the light. I don’t belong there. My only role is to be encouraging and proud.

I believe this is a coming of age for Maria, an affirmation of her growth, strength, creativity and confidence.

For me, an opportunity to be alone again, a different affirmation, a chance to find my center and truth. A lot of us need that now.

At times, this will be sad. At times, liberating. At times a chance for solitude and reflection, the stepping-stones of a creative life. Emotion is always good for a writer, and the absence of Maria will open my up in ways I cannot quite imagine, because it has never really happened. We have each been away from the other for a few days, but not a trip like this, so out of reach, so far, so long.

For me, loneliness is not a strange place, but a familiar one. I imagine I will get broody sometimes, that is cleansing.  Perhaps I’ll permit myself to cry some in the night. The wonderful thing about missing somebody you love – if their absence is temporary – is that you can see clearly how much you mean to one another. That is a gift.

It’s true that technology will keep us more connected than was once possible,  but I hope we don’t stay too connected. It ought to feel different, I hope she has fresh things to tell me when she returns, I don’t wish to feel like I know everything before she gets back.

I know myself, this week, to protect myself, I will begin to withdrawn, to hope up inside of myself, to keep things to myself. Just like the turtle going into the shell. That’s how I handle being alone.

I will be eating standing up in the kitchen, taking long walks in the woods, staying up late, getting up early,  sleeping fitfully, scattering debris everywhere.

Whatever happens, I can handle it, and I will share the experience.  This is my first India Journal.

There is no drama here. Maria will be fine and I will be fine, and she will come winging her way back to me so that we can resume the wonderful big trip that is our life together.

So, a wonderful thing, an exhilarating thing, a sometimes bittersweet thing. That is what I call a fair trade in life, you get something, you give something up. More to come. She leaves at 1 p.m. Sunday.