Do we all want to be somewhere else?
In America, do we have to move on, move around, move up or move out, seeking happiness?
I met a young man today: He is in Pennsylvania.
He wants to be in San Diego: 70 degrees, year round. He dreams of sitting by the ocean, probably on Newport Beach, drinking a beer and watching the sun set.
If that what his happiness is all about, why is he in Pennsylvania?
I met a young girl, who was walking out of the grocery store, carrying 50 lbs of dog food.
I stopped the car and told her to hop in. I would take her home.
She said her name is Julie and she has no car, but she has a dog.
And she will do anything for that dog, even carry 50 lbs of dog food, in the 90 degree weather, 2 miles away.
Is that happiness?
It is, for her.
I stopped on the way home, from shopping, for my usual screw driver.
She was sitting at the bar, alone, as usual.
She is 30ish, very attractive, tall and slender.
She orders a glass of white wine and a salad.
She does this at least 3 times a week.
She is always alone.
She is beautiful.
Is she happy?
Is it any of my business?
Of course not, but one of these days, I will strike up a conversation with her
And ask her if she would rather be somewhere else.
And if she asks me the same question, I will have to admit, that I have been around the world, searching for a heart of gold, the southern cross and a field of dreams. Make that a field of weed. And I have landed on the planet Pennsylvania, and found all 3, in the dark recesses of my mad, crazed mind.
And I will leave her with Pink Floyd’s words:
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Life is, after all, an illusion.
It doesn’t matter where I am, I am always stuck with me.
The eagle has landed. Ok, the chicken butt has landed.
Fly me to the moon, Neil Armstrong.
And let me play among the stars.
On second thought, can someone please get me another screw driver?