When people (the real ones and the others knocking about the cluttered anteroom of my brain) talk about success and income and metrics, I often have to pause. I am clearly a part of middle America: becubed and belawned. But what measure do I use for these status-stained ideals? Most of what is batted around as a gauge for success is deeply unsatisfying.
Often these references are about my children. And what they are doing. In terms of the capitalist fast-track, they are not doing. In terms of everything that matters, they are so fucking engaged in life it's breathtaking. I admit to worrying about health insurance and financial stability while I marvel at their consciousness. An excerpt from my son's recent post:
it's been a good week, though long. my feet howl at their abuse and my heart scratches at my ribcage. the summer is almost here, bringing more changes than the season. it's after three in the morning and i just got home from work. the show tonight was simply awesome; the music, the people and the night itself. i scored 106 points on a scrabble word and it made me giddy. all i had to eat today was two cups of tomato basil soup and two stout helpings of whisky. i am erratic and unhinged and i don't feel the need to be otherwise. when this life is done i will consider myself lucky beyond measure.If that's not rich with satisfaction, jesus, I don't know what is.