My favorite thing is reading stories, the good, bad, sad and the ugly, and I get reminded of some of my own.
At one point, I was renting a room in a flat with two guys, and felt so alone, I named the two cockroaches that were regulars in the kitchen, Sam and Arthur.
I remember feeling great about a freaking fly, during a road trip, which didn't seem to want leave even as I kept opening a window to get it out, and even finally gave it a name, Nice Big Fly and started talking to it. When during that road trip and making a stop, it finally flew out the open window, I felt sad, a weird kind of mourning. I had always before that time really hated flies and found them totally annoying, but actually got misty eyes about the loss of that one.
I remember driving across country when I was just 21, from NE to CA, in a pretty rickety Triumph Spitfire that I paid $600 for, top down, open sky, legs across the right seat, throttle out, head on a pillow, looking up at the massive sky, all the stars, alive or dead, and trying to commune with aliens. Back then, I thought I was probably too fucked up to be of any interest even to them. That was a disappointment at the time.
I look back and realize today, I was lucky to have had those experiences, and so many more! Why? Guess I often chose the road less travelled when young. Now as an elder, having to try and figure out how to make it all exciting again!