“Saturday night, I was driving around (it’s my usual thing, as I was born to wander), when I turned off down a red dirt road and stumbled upon a gypsy party. There were lots of pretty people there, I must say, but no one like me. I decided to hang around anyway, and after a while, I realized I wasn’t alone, as no one there was like anyone else, either, from one to the next to the next to the next, the oddities and eccentricities flowed from them like water from a roof leak across the wide-plank floor boards of a restored maine farmhouse (but never mind that). There was no desire to make anyone think alike or believe alike or act alike, just a thick, syrupy gratitude for being given the chance to be among the knowingly alive, joy, sorrow, regret, optimism, love, heartbreak, silliness, seriousness, pain, pleasure – whatever – they were just glad they had been granted the miraculous opportunity to explore the contents of their minds and their hearts. Slowly but surely, the moon began to show his pleasant contenance above the fray, and as I took in that warm glow, I realized that for the first time in I-Can’t-remember-when, I felt at peace with myself and my world. These were my people, I decided, and I just knew right that very minute, that no matter how long the gaps in time might be between my evenings spent with them, I would never wander alone again. They would always be riding shotgun, if only in my heart. The party wound down, I kissed my goodbyes, and after a couple backward glances, I got in my car and drove off; my heart like an alligator.
Life, my friends, is best when everything fits together because nothing is forced to.”
