You address the issue impeccably. I love your imagery of the balloon and its string, the shadow always there. The lifetime of not quite fitting anywhere.

Yes, lifetime.

What changes with time is that you see the virtues in this quality of homelessness; we are not misfits so much as malleable, evolving, and on some level perhaps, unwilling to fit in. The performance of trying to do so is wearing. So don't do it, unless it's absolutely necessary. I learned to perform; now I only don the required masks when it's a must. It's just too tiring.

And as we grow older, we make more peace with the not knowing enough, the not knowing who we are, the not belonging, the loneliness of it. And it is, or can be, lonely. More so for some of us than others.

We also treasure it. As you said – it makes us empathetic and open. It is our strength and vulnerability.

I don't wish to "belong" as I used to. Though I miss having family, a sense of family. I don't need a "home" in the same way as I used to, though I am definitely searching for a home – differently – and I'm stilling figuring it out.

Maybe that's the point, Lindsey. We'all always be figuring it out.

So I take my moments when there are elements of being "seen" – as Kristen said, elements of belonging, elements of home. I cherish those moments. And wonder if I will ever get closer to a self or place or relationship or circle of friends that feel more fitting, and comforting, and who understand.

Take your questioning, your eloquence, your capacity that runs wide and deep, all your shadowed and lightened selves and let them explore. We belong to ourselves, most of all, even if we don't have a single name or job description or address for what that means.

Own yourself as you are, and understand that it's a gift more than it is a burden.

I absolutely LOVE the idea of giving the gift of kindness to yourself this season.

For a long time, I was one of those suspicious characters "who exhibit an easy sense of belonging." I made friends easily and quickly. I still crave the feeling of fitting in and, in many ways, I still manage to do it – to surface appearances anyway.

But lately I've become more thoughtful, more reflective on the idea of not really being known and not really being seen. So I wonder if your feeling this way, for so long, may in fact be a reflection of your own temperamental tendency toward self-study. And whether, if we all looked at ourselves as adeptly as you do, we'd all feel aloneness at our cores.