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.