Crossing a mental Bridge

I am at a quandry.  Interaction with people is what makes me tick.  I love the human dynamics.  On the other hand, I scarcely know anyone well, nor they me.  Gypsies make difficult friends for ordinary people, and as you know I’m somewhat of a gypsy.  I come to this office to do my consulting work (whatever that may be).  I enjoy the work at times but seem detached.  I put forth my best effort but question my passion.  It’s almost as if I’m in a trance, performing well, as has been the case with thirty-five years of experience under my belt, but all the while questioning the worth of it all. Edicts and mandates, state requirements,  achievement and tests.  Do you ever notice how we test people to death.  Even with IQ scores.  We judge people on their statistical merit and use these tools to determine people’s abilities, failing as they do to account for ‘magic’, which has its own importance, both by itself and as a complement to logic.  I’m wanting to cross a  bridge in search of wizards.

Perhaps it’s the restlessness of not being ‘on the road’ again. We needed a respite from the trials and tribulations that beset us on our maiden voyage.  It was good to get back to the stick house after five months on the road.  But as much as I enjoy this consulting stint, the hunger to wander is burning within.  Three weeks in this abode has been enjoyable and comforting as well.  But my Transylvanian ancestors have bestowed nomadic genes in this frame.  I’m toying again with travel. 
My life is a horizontal exploration from one area of interest to another.  There is no final destination, no finish line, no ultimate end.  Much like dancing, I move around from place to place, not to get somewhere, but to be somewhere in time.  For all you wanna be full-timers out there and those of you that are not sure, my daily missives will, I hope, help you in some way to figure out there is no best way.  Other than to be happy with the here and now.