I’m pulling myself up out of this hole, this weird, hazy place I’ve been in, and I’m looking ahead. I see stepping stones leading straight for a short distance, and beyond that the stones scatter. I have no idea what’s to come. But does anyone ever, really?

I haven’t been getting much sleep, not until last night. I had weird dreams and woke up feeling beat up. I ran an errand after getting my wits about me, and while driving I pulled up a song that someone shared with me yesterday. Then I listened again. And again.

. .

I missed out on the 90s. I missed out on my 20s, at least in a way that I think the 20s are meant to be spent. Most 20-year-olds disagree with me. They feel a desperate need to settle down. Or the ones I know do. My daughter included. Just promise me, 20-somethings, that whatever you do between now and 30, even if you get married and have kids and get a 5-to-9 job, promise me that you won’t throw away your youth. You’re going to get old too fast either way, and you’ll never get this time back.

But then again…

My brother experienced something similar to what I did, and at 50 he left his life-sucking 6-figure job to brew beer for a living. He owns a bar, a successful one, and he lives like he’s 20-something. He’s not pursuing those trying-to-find-myself years, people live those their entire lives, but youth—the kind of youth that people earn. He said fuck this and then went to live his life. I’ve never seen him happier. And it seems he inadvertently found himself.

Who was it that said that youth is wasted on the young? …  the internet says George Bernard Shaw. Funny. I wrote about his writing hut only a post or two ago.

. .

A friend of mine shared a song with me because he knew it would resonate with my cynical/romantic nature. And it did. It does.

The 90s brought the world back down to Earth after the world’s fling with disco and post punk and the ridiculous—post punk repelling the latter, though some insist that Talking Heads is ridiculous. I strongly disagree. But I digress.

Of the little that dripped through the cracks of my rushed adulthood, Black Hole Sun was one of my favorite songs.

Here’s both the one I listened to over and over 20-something years ago and the one I missed out on until now.

Same guy.



Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

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