Adulthood is over-rated… if I could crawl my way back into my childhood, I’d do it. Not because it was so wonderful, but the sense of security I felt at KNOWing that I would be taken care of… that’s wonderful… and fleeting. Both my parents are gone now, and I am a parent now too, of a wonderful 11-year old boy. Today I turn 43 and still feel much like a child in many ways… hopeful, loving, expectant, young (even though someone who really *is* young would laugh to know that I think that), and beautiful (even though the mirror -or camera- tells a very different story) … although all of that has been tempered with life experience, some of it not so good, and leaving me disillusioned as well, like those things that I’ve always thought would materialize as a child are so much fairy tales and not the substance of real life. So… I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing, even though I make a great pretense of doing just that.
So… today I am going into Hollywood and spending the day loafing around WeHo, looking at books in bookstores and sitting in coffee shops… and this evening I’ll go to the Kodak Centre to see David Lynch speak about his new book and movie and listen to Donovan play some music. My gift to myself will be to go spend a night by myself in a hotel in West Hollywood, and hopefully get some writing done and maybe some arting too, and enjoy myself with little things like book shops and sipping coffee at my leisure, and not feeling the sting of being ignored or uncherished because, hey, I’ll be alone, and will have no expectations from strangers.
In any case, dear readers (whomever you are)… I hope this year that stretches before you will bring you all of the things you desire, and even those things that you might not think yourself worthy of, because I have these same hopes too.