Like a Kid in an Office-Supply Store

Once upon a time, in a place a little far away, and not too long ago, I was alone.

I was alone, and friendless, and I had almost nothing. I lost everything I had, and everything that I knew, or thought I knew, was suddenly no longer worth anything because it no longer made sense, or worked. I was tired, and very scared, and while in this state, I stumbled (by chance or Providence, I cannot say) upon a group of people who took me in.

They were, and hopefully still are, a motley bunch. They accepted me unconditionally, only asking that I might come back to see them again, which I gratefully did. They offered me a place to go, and their charity, care, and compassion, and a way to get in touch with an unsuspected inner resource that would enable me to meet every challenge I might ever face - if I wanted that way, that is. Lonely, and scared, and tired, I wanted it. Quite desperately, in fact.

Over a period of time, I found that inner resource. I carry it with me all the time, 'closer than my jugular vein', you might say; like looking around the corner at another life behind ordinary life. A subtle art of seeing, an intimate intuition of the way things should always be.

Never before, really, have I had it so good: never before have I been so in love, with my girlfriend, my God, and my life. I've discovered the fine and simple art of not-taking-yourself-so-damned-seriously, how to be a better child in and of this world, and I'm earnestly practicing it, trying to improve the skill with which I employ it in daily living. I've found out how to stop caring about so many, many things, and instead to really live with a certain simplicity and simplistic joy. I feel... wonderful.

Yet... alone. Apart. Different. From just about everybody and everything. Like a kid, surrounded by grown-ups, talking about really boring self-important things, silly gossip and petty rivalries and witless self-aggrandizement, people taking everything so bloody serious, taking themselves so bloody seriously, playing make-believe so hard that they've forgotten it's a game and aren't having fun any more.

Everything about the way I was taught, the training I got in how-to-remember-it's-not-important-and-neither-are-you, says this is all my fault. Not the other people, mind, but the feeling alone, apart, different. If I feel like a child surrounded by grown-ups, this way says, that means I'm the one doing something wrong.

Only, it's been about two years, now, and I've tried everything I can think to do to fix the problem, and none of it seems to work. Again and again, and again and again and again, I seem to keep coming to this place.

I'm starting to wonder, now, if maybe the problem isn't me; I'm starting to wonder if, perhaps, I'm just the only child in this room full of adults, and the problem is, instead, that I need to find the rest of us kids.

I mean, I've found one. My girlfriend is a kid, such as I describe. She knows not to take things so damned seriously. It's one of the things about her which I adore: the silly songs she sings, the way she wiggles her butt and dances around, the way she pouts and wants to help with the cooking and all the rest.

I guess I fear, sometimes, like now, that we're the only ones around.

I don't think we can be, really; there have to be more of us.

Just.... where?