Bohemian living was always in my dreams, having been raised in a perfectly pressed pinafore and seated on velvet and satin furniture. I am not really very gypsy like when it comes to home. Once upon a time, I lived out of one suitcase, but I have since been corrupted by the joy of controlling what comes into the house and finding a place for it. Loss of control. Once faced with this alarming epiphany, I vowed to give up control and accept the disorder and disruption.
What I’ve rediscovered is that without a lot of stuff to organize, the mind is free to think, more time to create, and effect essential decisions. Narcissism is sacrificed for more visceral makeup. Losing control is a replenishment of youthful spirit. It’s free and painless.
ADVENTURERS IN SINGLE LIVINGNESS 