In the 1980s, when I was at my physical and mental peak, as well as highly successful in the "business world," I created what I thought was my own self-effacing and most wonderful quote: "I am a deeply superficial person." It always got a big laugh and even a bigger laugh from me because I considered it to be the actual truth about myself. And then, in the early 90s, while scanning an Andy Warhol daily calendar consisting of his quotes, I saw the exact same quote as mine quoted by Warhol. In some way, I felt honored to have had my quote used by this prime cynic of the century...
But let me speak of regret. Regrets pertain to that which we can actually do something about, rather than to acts of fate or nature. One cannot rightfully regret someone's death, though they can certainly regret not saying "I love you" when they could have. I have made many mistakes in my life that I regret, all of them far more important in the scheme of my life than this particular one, however, in my deep superficiality, this is one that will probably forever "stick in my craw."
When I was in high school in the early 60s, I had a girlfriend, Stephanie, who was very hip, whereas I was pretty much still a punk and greaser, as such were called in those days. Stephanie was more of what might have been called a beatnik. Her brother was particularly so, as well as a musician who played banjo and mandolin (though I'm not certain about the latter). I was asked by Stephanie twice (on two different weekends) if I would like to stay at Bob Dylan's house over in Stockbridge for the weekend. Her brother played music with Bob Dylan. I believe she said "Bobby Zimmerman's house." And at least one of the times I said, "I don't want to go to no beatnik fag's house." That's how stupid and ignorant I actually was, believe it or not. Not even close to being deeply superficial, I was that stupid. Now I so kick myself and am also ashamed at how much I prided myself on my ignorance (though I don't think I would have been a Trump supporter, had he been around).
Had I gone, my life would most probably have changed radically at that point. Later, I was deeply touched by Dylan's music and poetry. Within eight years, I would be living in a commune in California, but had I begun at the tender age of 15 or 16, things would've changed much sooner and I would've been affected by direct contact with Dylan. Or, the opposite might have happened. I perhaps could have been absolutely freaked out and turned off by him and gone in some opposite direction (though I sincerely doubt that). Being a positivist by nature, that is, expansive in my thinking and dreaming, I see my choice as a definite rejection of a great opportunity to expand my whole being. I may have made up later for any rejection of expansion at that point, but the regret lingers. And the more I listen to Dylan, the more I hear him. He was the voice and the soul of the 20th century and remains so.
Looking back at myself in my life and at how callously I acted towards people actually creates heartache within me, for I was utterly narcissistic. Now I'm just narcissistic and not so utterly. I realize now that I did deeply hurt others, especially women I was involved with. I would not do now what I did then. I am a different person in that regard. And the particularly strange part of it is that I believed myself to be a "kind, loving, and spiritual" person. I believe I was ultimately "saved" by my daughter who was born with "profound autism." Her reality and presence "shook me to the core" and I learned there were other people besides just myself. As I have said previously, life is most difficult, but it is that very difficulty that demonstrates to us that life is good, that we ourselves are good, and, obviously, that others are good.
I realize that my talk meanders, that I meander. But I once described myself as "the mountain stream" as it babbles along, bouncing off its own banks, always flowing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. If I can find some of this old poety, I'll publish it here; it was good, inspired by Sarah, my daughter, and the reality she brought into my life.
But let me speak of regret. Regrets pertain to that which we can actually do something about, rather than to acts of fate or nature. One cannot rightfully regret someone's death, though they can certainly regret not saying "I love you" when they could have. I have made many mistakes in my life that I regret, all of them far more important in the scheme of my life than this particular one, however, in my deep superficiality, this is one that will probably forever "stick in my craw."
When I was in high school in the early 60s, I had a girlfriend, Stephanie, who was very hip, whereas I was pretty much still a punk and greaser, as such were called in those days. Stephanie was more of what might have been called a beatnik. Her brother was particularly so, as well as a musician who played banjo and mandolin (though I'm not certain about the latter). I was asked by Stephanie twice (on two different weekends) if I would like to stay at Bob Dylan's house over in Stockbridge for the weekend. Her brother played music with Bob Dylan. I believe she said "Bobby Zimmerman's house." And at least one of the times I said, "I don't want to go to no beatnik fag's house." That's how stupid and ignorant I actually was, believe it or not. Not even close to being deeply superficial, I was that stupid. Now I so kick myself and am also ashamed at how much I prided myself on my ignorance (though I don't think I would have been a Trump supporter, had he been around).
Had I gone, my life would most probably have changed radically at that point. Later, I was deeply touched by Dylan's music and poetry. Within eight years, I would be living in a commune in California, but had I begun at the tender age of 15 or 16, things would've changed much sooner and I would've been affected by direct contact with Dylan. Or, the opposite might have happened. I perhaps could have been absolutely freaked out and turned off by him and gone in some opposite direction (though I sincerely doubt that). Being a positivist by nature, that is, expansive in my thinking and dreaming, I see my choice as a definite rejection of a great opportunity to expand my whole being. I may have made up later for any rejection of expansion at that point, but the regret lingers. And the more I listen to Dylan, the more I hear him. He was the voice and the soul of the 20th century and remains so.
Looking back at myself in my life and at how callously I acted towards people actually creates heartache within me, for I was utterly narcissistic. Now I'm just narcissistic and not so utterly. I realize now that I did deeply hurt others, especially women I was involved with. I would not do now what I did then. I am a different person in that regard. And the particularly strange part of it is that I believed myself to be a "kind, loving, and spiritual" person. I believe I was ultimately "saved" by my daughter who was born with "profound autism." Her reality and presence "shook me to the core" and I learned there were other people besides just myself. As I have said previously, life is most difficult, but it is that very difficulty that demonstrates to us that life is good, that we ourselves are good, and, obviously, that others are good.
I realize that my talk meanders, that I meander. But I once described myself as "the mountain stream" as it babbles along, bouncing off its own banks, always flowing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. If I can find some of this old poety, I'll publish it here; it was good, inspired by Sarah, my daughter, and the reality she brought into my life.
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