Steps Back In Time
"Fucking poseurs... with their fucking faux-hawks... once upon a fucking time, you either did it all the way, or you stayed the fuck home."
I chuckled to myself as the clerk at Revolution Records couldn't contain his disgust over a clique of young twentysomethings who left the store in an eye-rolling huff. They'd appeared shocked that they couldn't find "underground" remixes of "Pokerface" by Lady Gaga. The clerk, who looked about my 45 years of age, continued to rant to his co-worker for a good 15 minutes after the kids left.
Part of me understood his irritation. Revolution, I discovered Saturday afternoon, is among the scant few indie music shops left in downtown New York. Even more rare is the fact that it's not lost in punk nostalgia. It's an actual venue devoted to current grass-roots bands vying to be the counter culture to a Lady Gaga-dominated musical landscape. And it's drowning in a sea of shops within a five-mile radius that is glutted with crap by Gaga and her contemporaries.
It's funny. As I stood in that shop, I felt completely out of place. I was no longer steeped in that counter culture. I flipped through the racks of discs and recognized only a scant few bands. I felt as uninformed as those twentysomethings, but I felt as cranky about those kids as the clerk did. I'd just spent several hours tracing the paths I used to walk when I was younger. Most of my favorite haunts were either gone or barely hanging on. Cue "This Used To Be My Playground" by Madonna.
As I wandered, I found myself remembering more than the places I loved visiting back in the '80s. I remembered my friends, most of whom are long-gone from my life. I remembered record-shopping, going clubbing, hanging out in cafes and diners. I remembered fantasizing about the future. The places I'd visit someday. The stuff I wanted to do. The man I wanted to become. All the while, my iPod pumped a playlist of songs from that period of my life. At one point, I felt so completely overwhelmed by memories and forgotten dreams that I needed to sit down. Of course, I landed in the hang-out hub of downtown Manhattan: Washington Square Park.
In so many ways, I've made it. I've escaped my family and their endless drama. I have a terrific man in my life. And I have a job that I genuinely enjoy. But in other ways, I'm still waiting for my actual life to begin... the part of life where I feel free. Completely free. You know what's funny? I used to know what complete freedom looks like. In my mind. Back in my 20s, it looked a lot like the accumulation of things I've achieved. Now, I'm not at all sure. Because, let's face it...
I'm nearly 46 and I'm still clearing the rubble of my childhood. I have a wonderful partner, but I also often feel like it's my responsibility to make sure that he's happy. To be clear and fair, he does NOT enforce or encourage that idea. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's all in my head. And I've come to accept that even the externally pretty jobs have occasional crap beneath the surface that distinguishes it from being a fun hobby. As the cliche goes, it's called "work" for a reason.
So, how does a life of good fortune leave you feeling bittersweet (as someone recently pointed out to me about my life)? Does aging require moments of melancholy over people and places that are no longer there? Is it wrong to be like that clerk in Revolution... clinging to the past, while trying to keep it alive in the present? I don't have an answer. Even if you try to answer it, I'm not sure I'll honestly believe that you really have it. Y'see, I don't know that there is an actual answer.
I enjoyed my afternoon strolling through my old "playground." Yes, it made me sad at times. But it also made me smile. It gave me an immeasurably feeling of joy and comfort. It was sweet to relive those days in my mind. I had a good time. I had good friends. I loved the youthful romance of the time. I believed the world was full of possibilities.
If there was anything I would like to bring back from my young adulthood, that would be it... to believe in possibilities... to look at life more like an open door and less like a locked room.
Onward... :)
I chuckled to myself as the clerk at Revolution Records couldn't contain his disgust over a clique of young twentysomethings who left the store in an eye-rolling huff. They'd appeared shocked that they couldn't find "underground" remixes of "Pokerface" by Lady Gaga. The clerk, who looked about my 45 years of age, continued to rant to his co-worker for a good 15 minutes after the kids left.
Part of me understood his irritation. Revolution, I discovered Saturday afternoon, is among the scant few indie music shops left in downtown New York. Even more rare is the fact that it's not lost in punk nostalgia. It's an actual venue devoted to current grass-roots bands vying to be the counter culture to a Lady Gaga-dominated musical landscape. And it's drowning in a sea of shops within a five-mile radius that is glutted with crap by Gaga and her contemporaries.
It's funny. As I stood in that shop, I felt completely out of place. I was no longer steeped in that counter culture. I flipped through the racks of discs and recognized only a scant few bands. I felt as uninformed as those twentysomethings, but I felt as cranky about those kids as the clerk did. I'd just spent several hours tracing the paths I used to walk when I was younger. Most of my favorite haunts were either gone or barely hanging on. Cue "This Used To Be My Playground" by Madonna.
As I wandered, I found myself remembering more than the places I loved visiting back in the '80s. I remembered my friends, most of whom are long-gone from my life. I remembered record-shopping, going clubbing, hanging out in cafes and diners. I remembered fantasizing about the future. The places I'd visit someday. The stuff I wanted to do. The man I wanted to become. All the while, my iPod pumped a playlist of songs from that period of my life. At one point, I felt so completely overwhelmed by memories and forgotten dreams that I needed to sit down. Of course, I landed in the hang-out hub of downtown Manhattan: Washington Square Park.
In so many ways, I've made it. I've escaped my family and their endless drama. I have a terrific man in my life. And I have a job that I genuinely enjoy. But in other ways, I'm still waiting for my actual life to begin... the part of life where I feel free. Completely free. You know what's funny? I used to know what complete freedom looks like. In my mind. Back in my 20s, it looked a lot like the accumulation of things I've achieved. Now, I'm not at all sure. Because, let's face it...
I'm nearly 46 and I'm still clearing the rubble of my childhood. I have a wonderful partner, but I also often feel like it's my responsibility to make sure that he's happy. To be clear and fair, he does NOT enforce or encourage that idea. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's all in my head. And I've come to accept that even the externally pretty jobs have occasional crap beneath the surface that distinguishes it from being a fun hobby. As the cliche goes, it's called "work" for a reason.
So, how does a life of good fortune leave you feeling bittersweet (as someone recently pointed out to me about my life)? Does aging require moments of melancholy over people and places that are no longer there? Is it wrong to be like that clerk in Revolution... clinging to the past, while trying to keep it alive in the present? I don't have an answer. Even if you try to answer it, I'm not sure I'll honestly believe that you really have it. Y'see, I don't know that there is an actual answer.
I enjoyed my afternoon strolling through my old "playground." Yes, it made me sad at times. But it also made me smile. It gave me an immeasurably feeling of joy and comfort. It was sweet to relive those days in my mind. I had a good time. I had good friends. I loved the youthful romance of the time. I believed the world was full of possibilities.
If there was anything I would like to bring back from my young adulthood, that would be it... to believe in possibilities... to look at life more like an open door and less like a locked room.
Onward... :)