I've been tripping from sipping the dripping dirty water tap

This past Thursday night I was invited to a friend's poetry/singing performance at the Library of Progress in Baltimore. Having nothing else planned for the evening, wishing to be supportive and intriguied by a friend's description of the Library as a "hippie comune with... books" I drove myself down and steeled myself for being the odd person out because: 1) I am not a hippie and 2) I don't write/enjoy/appreciate most poetry-- noted exceptions include Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, e.e. cummings, Mary Oliver and Courtney McKim Yates.
It was... an experience. And for most of the evening I felt rather guilty for judging those brave enough to share their art/souls with the room. After all, it is quite possible that I am not nearly as emotionally or spiritually evolved as the poet who stated "My vote had been stolen from me... I love those I hate." I may have been taken in by the capitalist machine: I received many compliments on the purse I brought with me-- one I don't like very much, but bought to match one shirt in my wardrobe. I, perhaps, am too cynical... instinctually laughing at the mechanic doing his best (and most serious) Eminem impression. And, I'm sure it's a sign of my own brainwashing that I spent some of the poets' readings imagining what an episode of "What Not to Wear" or "Queer Eye" for that individual might look like.
Kyan: You've obviously worked very hard on... establishing those dread-locks. How long are they.
Hippie: 24 inches.
Kyan: 2 feet! Really? That's very long.
Carson (off camera): Where did this wardrobe come from? Vintage Bad Choices?
Kyan: This was all fine up to this point, but as you enter the next stage of your career, you're going to need something that reflects where you want to be.
Etc, etc.
As we left the library, I made my apologies for being a buzz kill. "After all," I said, "You never know what'll happen when you bring the straight-laced girl to the hippie commune. Could be a good time, could be disasterous...." At this point, the evening's focus shifted (for me) from the investigation of a sub-culture to an investigation of self. I was taken aback by my companions insistance the I am not as I had termed myself ("straight laced"), and am, infact, far from it. They played the word association game for a few minutes, and while that was less than enlightening, I spent my ride home mulling over our conversation.
And I've been feeling pensive and fragile ever since -- and not a little bit introspective.
No, I don't fit in with or understand or really want to understand the hippies. I am content to live in my apartment with my wireless internet, cable and dishes from Pier 1, emulating a metro-Crate and Barrel life. I believe Kyan when he suggests that I should try to reflect not only where I'm at, but where I want to be. I love to showers, baths and beauty products. I think pop music is okay sometimes... there are times when looking for deeper meaning distracts from the basic fun of the song, movie, book, conversation, etc.
But is that enough? This is a perenial question for me... the one that qualifies me as an over-achiever... the ledge I need to be talked off of occasionally. And my answer, this time, is that it isn't. I can believe myself to be quite happy in my life, but if I am not aware of the needs of others and making efforts to help them, my life entirely too isolated. There has to be (for me) a community component-- an agreement that we will watch out for each other, listen to each other, and make decisions that are not simply self-serving but recognize the effects of our actions on our communities: local and global. Without that support system, it can be rather hard to relax and enjoy all you have.
So, shout out to the hippies who remind us of universal truths.
Now, let's have some fun.

Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy. ~Guillaume Apollinaire