Things

I don't consider myself unique, but the people I feel truly at home with are scattered over this world like feed for free range chickens.

They are my family of the heart, those people who make me feel okay, like I belong, that my ideas are not odd, or airs, or anything except my own personal ideas.

Which translates into my feelings about whatever I'm reading, or thinking, or worrying about, because that is where most of my ideas spring from.

Strangely enough they are also the people most open to considering other ideas unlike those in my genetic family, many of whom stopped growing somewhere in their teens.

And I don't mean people who are full of passion and courage and a desire to explore new areas. I mean people who still want the same things they wanted at those ages. Fast cars, alcohol, sex, to be cool. They still mostly want "Things." And they mostly talk about people, or things. They are much more likely to want to talk about the garage sale they went to, or the lady next door, than the book they are reading.

Not everybody of course. There are people in my family who are more like me.

But not many.