I sometimes get this “it-all-turned-to-shit” feeling. My life. My youthful dreams. The city of Berkeley. The state of the world. It all turned to shit.
I’m not sure exactly how I envisioned my life turning out. But not like THIS. That’s for damn sure.
I guess I had some vague image of ending up living in a little cabin in the woods somewhere. With a wife or a girlfriend. A fireplace in the living-room. And the walls of my study would be lined with all my books and record albums. Spend my later years writing a series of books. Or recording a series of albums. Maybe have a column in the local newspaper where I could share my crackpot opinions with the breathless public. And a little meditation area in the corner in the back of the cabin, with my incense and Shiva statue and guru photos and a pillow to sit on. . .
I wonder how many people started out with a vision of the life they hoped to have, and actually attained it. Or even exceeded it.
And how many people watched haplessly as their youthful dreams crashed and burned.
Or all the people who didn’t have any ambitions in the first place. They just wanted to get through life as simply and painlessly as possible.