I dated a rich chick once, briefly. I don’t remember her name. I think it started with a D, but who the hell knows. She was really pretty. Smart. Funny. She had a nice car with a sunroof and had personalized license plates. Back in the late 80’s that was pretty cool and definitely a symbol of having money to waste. For the record, I have no idea what she was doing with me. Slumming?
I don’t remember how we met, but she would show up to the restaurant where I worked right at closing time and we would go hang out, talk, laugh, tell stupid stories about other friends, and make out on the trampoline in her parents back yard until 4am. See, that’s what we did when we were 19 or 20.
It was summer of one of my college years and I was working in restaurants trying to earn enough to keep the apartment rented and the lights on as well as afford the next school year. The restaurant would close at 1am and this pretty, smart, and funny rich girl would come pick me up, drive me around town, hang our heads out the windows to feel the cool evening air and get the stink of food and booze out of my hair, then she would drop me off or we would end up on that trampoline back at her parents back yard, where she was living between semesters. Then I would go…either back to my apartment in the little college town about an hour away, lazily crash on a couch at a friends house, or sneak into the basement of my mom’s house through a back sliding glass door. Then I would get up the next day, find a shower, get some food, and do it all over again.
Important note: I didn’t have to sneak into my mom’s house for any reason beyond trying to be conscientious and not wake her up at 4am. I thought it would be the good-son thing to do.
Other nights, when my mystery girl didn’t show or when I didn’t have other semi-romantic plans, I would get together with friends and do stuff. You know, important stuff. We would go play darts until the bars closed. We would drive around, cool air blowing and music playing. We’d hang out in basements with other friends, get high, and listen to Pink Floyd records all night. We’d have a few beers and then find these huge empty parking lots and run ourselves silly playing frisbee, probably without shoes on. We had energy…for some reason.
And we were free. We were broke, but we were free.
It’s funny. Back then, I had school and work, rent and bills to pay, a car payment and savings to keep for future needs – like school or car insurance, new darts or cheap dates with anyone I could convince to date me. Whatever. I still had dentist appointments, errands to run, and other administrative obligations. Life was life but, for some reason, I would hang out on a trampolines with pretty girls (really, just the one) or run around playing frisbee in empty parking lots at four in the morning until we were exhausted, and it was sublime. We felt and acted totally free. Nothing seemed to matter beyond that moment. Maybe nothing did. I mean, we had tasks, but seemingly no real responsibility beyond what was directly in front of us.
I look back at those times with great fondness. Even though that period was all of maybe two summers during college, I feel like they lasted forever. The rich chick I was seeing, that lasted maybe a few weeks (and I took no end of shit for it from my friends wondering why she was hanging out with me), but man, it feels like it was a long lasting and meaningful relationship simply because of my hard-coded memories of the feeling of freedom. We shared time, and that was precious. Or was it?
Fast forward 30 years.
I’m now in my early 50’s, recently retired, got plenty of money in the bank (at least enough for our needs), I’m healthy, married to the best person I have ever met (she’s cute, too, but doesn’t own a car or have personalized license plates), and have been traipsing around the world for the last year or so looking for new places to live and for new adventures. At least that’s what we tell ourselves. But I seem to have lost the sense of freedom. At this moment in time I should feel totally free, but I don’t. And this isn’t just a recent development. These feelings have been around for several years, if not most of my so-called adult or middle-age years. For some reason, I have let other priorities take over my soul rather than simply living in the here and now. I plan almost everything. I go to bed early to get up to exercise before it gets hot or to get to work without being tired or hung over. I plan meals and eat sensibly-ish. I don’t remember the last time I got high and listened to Pink Floyd records or let alone play frisbee. I pay bills, run errands, manage finances and my task list just like days past, but seem to have arbitrarily limited my sense of freedom in order to accomplish that which is, if not mostly meaningless in the long run, at least handled to a point that I shouldn’t need to worry about it.
So, I cannot help but ask, why? Why do I look back at those times and long for those feelings again. Where and how did those feelings of freedom come and go? Is it age? What the hell does that even mean? It is a set of expectations, placed on me by myself or others, responsibilities society tells me to have? Is it that we have stuff to lose…not possessions as such, but money, health, security, or dwindling time? Is it media and ever-present stories of doom and gloom, of politics and pandemics, wildfires, gun violence, all the things that can upset an idealist emotionally if not affecting one physically?
When I was 18, I left the house to go to college. I took with me all I owned, a duffel bag full of clothes, a guitar, and my bed to set up in my first apartment. For the next few years I lived in the moment. Now I’m over 50, done working, and have spent the last year roaming the world. I’ve gone from having nothing to having everything, and then intentionally back to nothing again.
I am as free as I have ever been but, in some ways, have never felt more trapped. Why? My only guess is the emotional weight created by 30 years of shit, decisions, awkward situations, worries and regrets, fears, failures, and apprehensions, arguments, depression, meal plans and fad diets, and the memories of the general aches and pains of life.
Either that, or we have allowed the shoulds and have-tos to overwhelm the loves and want-tos. We have allowed that which used to bring us joy to become things to plan, schedule, and worry about. Instead of wanting to go for a run, it is now a must in order to stay fit. Food has too often become a means to fuel the body rather than the love of a good meal, and staying up until 4am for anything is just crazy. The feelings of freedom are missing.
Anyone want to find a parking lot and play frisbee all night? I think I do.
