A few weeks back, I was housesitting for my mother while she went to finish cleaning out her mother's house in Laurel, Iowa. During this housesitting stint, I water flowers, hang out with The Dog, and just basically putter around the house, like my grandfather used to do; shuffling around in a robe and slippers (and nothing else... lllllllllllllllllladies...), reading books, watching movies, doing the crossword... just being a total bum for the most part.
But it's so strange, being back in that big old house. There are a bunch of pictures all around, of me when I was younger, in high school, etc., and there I am, in a big house all alone, and everywhere I look, there it is.
My past. My future-is-just-around-the-corner, gonna-show-this-world-a-thing-or-two, how-successful-do-you-think-I'll-end-up-being, wide-eyed, idealistic past. I had so much going for me. I thought I had it all put together.
And it just went away.
I had hopes and dreams and aspirations. I was gonna do this, and that, and the other. And instead, I've wound up where I am. Doing okay, but not successful, not by any stretch of the imagination. No girlfriend. No money. Sweet apartment, but... where did I go wrong?
When did the road I was on curve to this little slice of normalcy that I call my world? When did a band - a fucking band! - become my last shot at being great? When did the one in a million shot become my best shot at accomplishing something truly special, something to be remembered for, something to be celebrated for?
I look at those old pictures of me. Thin. Tall. Athletic. Huge smile. Ready for anything.
I compare them with pictures of me now. Heavy-set. Tall. Certainly less athletic. And a smile that betrays my lack of knowing what's going on around me.
At what point did I end up on this road, as opposed to that road? At what point did food and work and rent become more important than dreams? And hope? And passion?
I don't know anymore. Perhaps I'll figure it out. I have another shift at the old house next week. Perhaps by then, I'll have it all figured out.
Or perhaps I won't.
(Leslie: we'll work on Super-Secret Project Vulcan soon, I swear)
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3 comments:
Sure we will. Funny, I just had a stint in my parents' empty house last weekend, and had similar feelings looking at our old pictures, especially the infamous senior picture. My friend said "You look so different," and I thought, "That's because I am so different." Maybe the biggest difference is that then we didn't have to worry about food or work or rent because someone was doing that for us. Maybe not. I think we all feel it. As you were writing this very blog post, I was writing an e-mail to a friend about this very thing -- why am I doing so very little with my life? But what more do I even want to do with it?
Sigh.
I don't have answers. At least you have a band? :) And Project Vulcan.
Last shot at being great?
At your age?
Are you kidding me?
You have the rest of your life to continue being great. Just because you haven't gone down the same path you thought you might when you were an idealistic kid, doesn't mean you're on the wrong one.
You never know what will be around the next curve in the road.
Besides, as soon as I win that Powerball, you guys will be signed. And yes, I've been drinking, and yes, maybe it was from the optimistic wine glass tonight... :P
Well that's a pity party. Greatness comes from being good. Mohammed Yunus spent 35 years before he was made famous. He's been great that whole time.
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