Wandering Works

I thought I’d be dead by now. Something in me just couldn’t imagine lasting beyond 36. I’ve always been weird, what can I say.

Now that I’m 44, I can’t imagine squeezing everything in by the end of it all.

I make it to 83 in my imaginings, now.

Life has a way of changing how we see things, even imaginary ones. I think I’ve changed how I person, more than I’ve changed as a person. If that makes sense, you’re in the right place.

These days, I’m seen as a people person, and someone who is organized and hard working. I thought those things were always there, just less tapped into, I suppose. It’s funny how a different environment can invite you further into yourself that way.

I’m still a weirdo out loud, I just get to do it in front of people who see me consistently. I haven’t done that in decades.

I think that’s at least a fifth of what I love about my job in an antiques shop. We’ve got regulars and we’ve got newcomers. We’re the heart of the town, in the heart of downtown. I say I’m a vintage slinger, but I’m a bartender without the booze.

I meet a lot of people, but it’s the really seeing them that makes me happiest. I feel like I’ve found my place in this job, and it was already my favorite place these twenty years of wandering.

Full circles never stop.






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