An idealist’s demise
It was summer and the long-haired, crooked-nosed idealist was waking up at 3:00 pm…again. The sunlight was forcing its way through the smallest cracks of his mini-blinds. The young man rolled his bad breath away from his drool-soaked pillow and thanked his bed for letting him rest on his ideals for one more night.
The epiphany had come about 12 hours earlier in a moment of early morning grandiosity. Hopped up on living in the dark hours when most people sleep and an overdose of Lipton iced tea caffeine, the idealist had established a code for happy living: No money, no watches, no light. The money made people greedy, the watches made people starve for time, and light shined an ugly spotlight on all things evil.
The idealist would shake off the cobwebs just in time to have a nice home-cooked dinner with his family, make sweet love to his high school girlfriend, and then retire into a late summer night of new epiphanies and personal codes for happiness. He would not wake up for years.
That was me…a long time ago. It was a time when establishing temporary bans on money, watches, and light was really possible. Mom and Dad were footing food and rent, summer was getting shorter but was still endless, and when you sleep until three, there ain’t much light about which to worry.
I hadn’t thought about that particular code for happiness in a long time. Then I got up early this morning and went to meet with a multi-millionaire. Darla is one of these women who is frighteningly attractive even at an advanced age. Even when she is indoors, her hair looks like it is blowing in the wind; her eyes are vacant and full at the same time; and when she talks, it is like a lion orating about a silk sheet. It took significant effort not to think about being a down-on-his-luck pizza delivery boy/gigolo.
Darla is the head of a group of wealthy power brokers who wants to raise South Carolina’s per capita personal income. In short, Richey Rich wants Joe Six-Pack to make more dough.
As I stood in the room full of power ties and hard coffee drinkers, I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to escape. Eventually, I did. As I stood in the parking lot soaking in the pre-Spring sun (yeah, I think I like light now), I started thinking about how it would be nice to translate my long-haired idealistic musings into my adult life.
But…there are realities we must confront. They are rock-solid and airy at the same time. We have to wake up, we have to scrape up overtime to pay for our pseudo-lavish lifestyle, and we have to wear sunglasses to shield our eyes from the bright deadlines that we face every day.
As it turns out, Richey Rich isn’t going to make our news tonight. Trying to explain why would just depress you. But it has nothing to do with the validity of the story.
That summer, I would sit in my room at two in the morning listening to The Doors on a set of head phones.
Right now, I’m wearing a set of headphones (actually more of a headphone…one of the earpieces doesn’t work) and listening to a South Carolina State Senate filibuster. Senators are fighting about money, counting the hours they are at work, in a room lit with flourescent light.
If only somebody would elect that long-haired crooked nosed idealist from Spingfield, MO…
