Reality Is Flawed in The Kid Used To Dream

Maybe for this reason, I dream. It’s not that I don’t like my reality - I just don’t care for it. A little bit of me wishes I had grown up during the 1800s. A time when people wasn’t so desensitized to creative stories. I believe I could have traveled with a music band.

Another part of me could see me in the roaring 20s. The suits, the cars and the shows. The jazz and explosion of big bands.

I would have probably been torn in the 50s. Would I have favored the Motown sound or Memphis rock? That is a hard one!

I never saw myself admiring the peace and love rallies of the 60s or the disco 70s. I’m still not sure what the 80s gave us had it not been for Springsteen and Michael Jackson to throw musical lifelines our way.

I feel I missed too many opportunities in the 90s and should have focused on music more instead of selfish ambitions. Ain’t that the way it goes? You think you are this broad thinker and all of a sudden irrelevance is the enemy.

The only dream I have now is to return to a time when I could make my own decisions and know what decisions to make.