"Shiver and say the words, of every lie you've heard"
I had an opportunity to catch up with an old dear friend the other night: The kind of friend who you check in with every few months, chart your progress on the great experiment of life, and then go back to your daily grind, a little more affirmed and balanced.
One theme that came up, was settling into the routines of middle-class family life, and addressing the angst that can accumulate like so many odds and ends. This gave audience to an unease that routines preclude the loftier dreams and ambitions that guided us through youth. And this observation or lament was not exclusive to the two of us. Moving into our fifth decade, it seems that a lot of people look back at the visage of their former selves and ask: "What happened?"
"Where is that large automobile?
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house?"
Personally, I thought I'd have something substantial published by now. I haven't written a play in 24 years (writer's block). Personally, I think I'm too insecure:I have an allergic reaction to rejection. Though, ironically, I did ghost-write a chapter in a published book on self-empowerment.
In kind others might be compelled to ask, why haven't I devoted my life to art? How did I arrive at a two car garage, commute to the office and "all the patient merit that the unworthy takes"? When did I willing take a seat on the "endless trains of the faithless"? Did I really "step in line to walk amongst the dead"? Weren't we "Generation X", willing to throw off the yoke of commercial conformism and middle-class suburbia? Weren't we all content being a barista, or silk-screen printer (with advanced degrees), listening to Pearl Jam and Elliot Smith? Perhaps we all just took on far greater dreams and worthy pursuits.
We grew up. And while we never lost our talent to become the next great American novelist, or painter, or truth seeker, we simply turned our attention toward the most noble of causes; building a home and providing for our families. I had many dreams growing up. I wanted to be a Postman first. Seemed like a fun job: You worked outside: You got to make small talk with people. This was in the early 70's though, long before "going postal" reached the lexicon. I also wanted to own a monkey and buy my grandparents house on Diamond Hill Road.
One theme that came up, was settling into the routines of middle-class family life, and addressing the angst that can accumulate like so many odds and ends. This gave audience to an unease that routines preclude the loftier dreams and ambitions that guided us through youth. And this observation or lament was not exclusive to the two of us. Moving into our fifth decade, it seems that a lot of people look back at the visage of their former selves and ask: "What happened?"
"Where is that large automobile?
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house?"
Personally, I thought I'd have something substantial published by now. I haven't written a play in 24 years (writer's block). Personally, I think I'm too insecure:I have an allergic reaction to rejection. Though, ironically, I did ghost-write a chapter in a published book on self-empowerment.
In kind others might be compelled to ask, why haven't I devoted my life to art? How did I arrive at a two car garage, commute to the office and "all the patient merit that the unworthy takes"? When did I willing take a seat on the "endless trains of the faithless"? Did I really "step in line to walk amongst the dead"? Weren't we "Generation X", willing to throw off the yoke of commercial conformism and middle-class suburbia? Weren't we all content being a barista, or silk-screen printer (with advanced degrees), listening to Pearl Jam and Elliot Smith? Perhaps we all just took on far greater dreams and worthy pursuits.
We grew up. And while we never lost our talent to become the next great American novelist, or painter, or truth seeker, we simply turned our attention toward the most noble of causes; building a home and providing for our families. I had many dreams growing up. I wanted to be a Postman first. Seemed like a fun job: You worked outside: You got to make small talk with people. This was in the early 70's though, long before "going postal" reached the lexicon. I also wanted to own a monkey and buy my grandparents house on Diamond Hill Road.
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