My People

My friend Hatcher called me on Wednesday night to see how I was doing with the whole breaking up and moving on thing. I was busy trying to decide between cowboy boots or chacos (you know, the more important decisions in life) and she asked me why. “Oh, I'm going on a date,” I said. She laughed and didn't quite believe me. I told her about the strange and hilarious rash of dates I've had recently and her reasoning for it was so fitting. “Well, you are finally with your people. I shouldn't be surprised.” I thought that was a perfect explanation for what I've sought for years: my people. I think we are all searching for our people, those who get us, who we get, who make introductions easy and free flowing. And that really is how I feel about Asheville: it is full of people I understand and those who push me a little bit. I don't have to dress up, dumb down, hide passions or walk the line of decorum—I don't have to hide who I am in order to fit in. I feel like it's freed me up to be much happier, much more tolerant. Feeling home has killed my fight a little bit—my edges aren't quite so sharp, my fists aren't so keenly clenched. And that is good for everyone.