Elizabeth Dauphinee's The Politics of Exile begins with the life and story of a professor who is so caught up in the ropes of her work that she finds herself starved of everything else. Quickly we learn that, most of all, she is starved of love. I venture that every scholar can relate to such situation-either in general or at some point of her or his life. I most certainly relate. And yet, this is also a dangerous identification: voids of love exist only as a narrative, and even then, as nothing more than one moment in any really great story. We might see and narrate ourselves as love-starved, but only at the cost of deafening and blinding ourselves to the many different instantiations of love in our lives-from reassuring recognition to lifeshattering event. Though the rules of academia might imply this is less formative of the text and the scholar than the listed references, I take advantage of these acknowledgements to take some time to remember and thank those who, over this very long journey, made sure I was never starved, despite my own narratives. I have many specificities to be grateful for, but first and foremost, I thank you, my friends, for your love offerings and their insistence, despite my growing expertise for isolation by not listening, seeing, feeling, nor accepting them.