I suppose I'm just a bit meloncholy tonight. I was checking out pictures of a girl's bachlorette party... a girl who used to hold a very special place in my heart, but one I've lost touch with over the years of moves and transition. She looked wonderful in them - content and beautiful, just as she always had. And I couldn't help but think about how she was doing everything "right" and "in order"... that is, if there is a rightness or an order to anything in life. And while I am not unhappy with my status in life (because I have gotten exactly as I have chosen), I can't help but squash the desire to ask did I do it right? Did I catch the right train? Have I played it too safely? Or probably more appropriately, have I played it too rough.
And while I can go on and on and on, listening to myself drone on in my own ears, I can't ignore this small fire in me that has never gone out. It has kept me warm. It has helped me write many adventures. And really, it's become an intregal part of well, me.
The other day I watched my sister pick up pennies and dimes on a supermarket floor. And while 97% of me wanted to say I'll wait for you in the car, the other part of me (3%) admired her for listening to herself. I'm not saying I didn't think she was weird (because 97% of me sure did), but there was still this strange contentedness in finding her own proverbial way. But maybe that's the kicker for me, the key, the one piece that makes it make sense. I worry that I may lose my sense of adventure but then I realize that I'm just no longer travelling alone. And I really never expected that to happen. And just maybe that's what's the real deal. I am satisfied. And finally it's a statement.
"It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves - in finding themselves."
Andre Gide, writer, humanist, and moralist