Preface: I fucking LOVE listening to This American Life in the mornings while I’m paying medical bills. It’s my new crack:
“Have you ever had one of those moments when you know that you’re being visited by your own future? They come so rarely and with little fanfare, those moments. They’re not particularly photogenic. There’s no breach in the clouds to reveal the shining city on a hill. No folk dancing children outside your bus, no production values to speak of– just a glimpse of such quotidian, incontrovertible truth that after the initial shock at the supreme weirdness of it all, a kind of calm sets in. So this is to be my life.”
I am stilling waiting for that moment. I have plans for my future, things that I want to accomplish. But I have no idea, in the end, how it will all play out. (I guess no one in their 20’s really does… GOD, that’s annoying). I know that I want some kind of niche in the creative world, despite my jejune attempts at all things artistic to date. And if I could make money doing that? Perfection… I think…?
I eagerly anticipate that calm clarity. To finally know how all the bits and pieces of my life experience to date will combine to create a (hopefully) beautiful life. I know, I know what you’re going to say: It’s all about the journey, dude! Yeah, I get that. It’s a sweet, and mostly valid, sentiment. But occasionally my journey has to take a backseat to my pondering where the sidewalk ends…. Hermmmm, maybe I should use another analogy…. comparing my life’s work epiphany to an ‘end’ of any kind implies retirement or death. And I hope I get that revelation before either. That would be nice.
Current Jam(s): The Immaculate Collection, Madonna