There is a room in the back of the house where I can go to read the newspaper or a book, write a letter, or do absolutely nothing but settle into my overstuffed chair and think about how wonderful nothing really is. I can’t hear the phone ringing nor the lyrics from a track on a tired CD my daughter plays tirelessly on the stereo. There is no television set, computer, PlayStation®, or Nintendo®. There is only my chair, often a newspaper or book, and a pad of writing paper that complements the solace I seek in my quiet space. My life is no different outside of the room in the back of the house, but once inside I am sheltered from a busy world, able to reflect upon how lucky I truly am.