Peter, My son came to me as a foster child at the age of eight and was adopted at nine. It took longer to adopt than to give birth but that's another story. He had spent the first eight years of his life in one foster home after another. His birth mother was incapable of caring for him and loved him too much to release him for adoption. The result was years of neglect and abuse but worst of all instability.

He has no sense of "place" in the world. He trusts no one. And he always fears losing the people who care for him. As a strange form of self preservation he often deliberately sabotages relationships so that the stress of worrying about the end or the fear of rejection ends. I am afraid he feels exactly the same in the middle of a forest as in a room full of family.

Me? I am my own best company. In the woods, on the subway, walking down a deserted street, I simply am.