Furious World Blog

A few weeks ago I flew back east with my daughter to get her settled
into college. The experience was bittersweet as you might expect.
Replete with several trips back and forth to Bed Bath and Beyond, a
student/parent bag lunch, and a slightly teary farewell. One of the
unexpected consequences of the trip was that I was nearly disabused
of this nagging sense that I’m still twenty two years old -in fact,
I’m turning fifty one this November.

It’s hard to carry on the fantasy that everything’s still possible
and that youthful dreams are for fulling when you’re looking at your
grey headed balding self hanging up your daughter’s skirts in her
dorm-room mirror. I’m not complaining at all, I promise. My sense of
pride and love for her is nearly overwhelming. It’s just that I’m
dumbstruck with the powerful sensation of so much time having passed.
It’s not something you notice often. It’s not as if there’s a part of
the body that works for sensing time passage -like the nose does for
detecting odors or the ears do for detecting sound. Becoming suddenly
cognizant of the dissapearance of twenty five or thirty years is an
incredibly potent human experience that can only be brought on by
accident it seems.

And what about putting youthful dreams into motion -long past youth?
Is it wise? Is it appropriate to try? Platitudes like “it’s never too
late” or “life begins at fifty” might be better printed on
refrigerator magnets than put into actual practice. And yet, there is
something in me, that keeps soldiering on, constantly trying out new
shapes and ideas, and assiduously looking to connect. I respect that
it could all well be just an irritating compulsion. Nonetheless, the
impetus is there.

This week marks the second anniversary of my rock and roll internet
variety show, The Furious World http://furiousworld.com , a youthful
dream into which I’ve genorously poured resources both spiritual and
financial. I can’t count the number of times I’ve decided to quit it
and yet, something promising always comes along to rescue it from
oblivion. A sponsor, an adoring letter from a fan, or an especially
inspiring guest. My hope is to build it into something that keeps
growing and continues to engage a larger audience.

My father passed away at fifty four years old. When he was my age, he
didn’t appear to be thinking about pursuing his youthful dreams, he
was simply fighting to survive. In the back of my mind, I’m always
thinking about him. I’m always thinking about the blessing of being
alive and the opportunity of being able to drag ideas from the
ephemeral to the manifest makes almost every hardship bearable.

So for now anyway, I’m going to ignore that image of me in my
daughter’s dorm-room mirror. I’m going to allow denial to do it’s
work and let me believe it’s all still possible.