else where

I spent the better part of the evening in a tree house.

That's not something most adults can say. Not very often, at least.

It was one of those sturdy, well-structured affairs like they have in the movies. They're usually the "property" of some spoiled corporate brat. The key difference was a complete lack of children, slingshots, and "no girls" signs. In their place were the adult comforts like an excess of pillows, electric outlets, i-Tunes, and plenty of vino.

Oh, I failed to mention the frequent circulation of upwards of twenty people!

This gathering was in celebration of yet another friend's departure from town. Having lived here for the last five years and off-and-on another three years before that, there's always an exodus. Plenty of others get their ticket out. I sit back and watch this town become so many other's springboard.

So there we all were passing around the bottles of pomegranate wine, champagne, and some others, nibbling on the vegan scones my wife made, sharing close quarters with a few friends, strangers, and whatever lies in between. These are merely titles that we wear or brandish upon others.

During a localized lull in conversation I tuned my ears around the "house". Our departing friend is fresh out of college and several of the others have the same predicament. It didn't surprise me to hear somebody going on about not wanting to be represented by their major.

This feeling clearly doesn't go away. It changes shape as people yearn to be more than their job title or represented by more than their credit rating. I was thinking recently that there might be more power in recognizing what you're not than what you are. There's a lot to be said for negative space. It provides a new perspective at least.

Like a tree house.