Thursday, December 17, 2015

Big Dreams

I don't remember ever wanting to be a fireman or a cowboy. I surely never considered medicine. By the time that I was nine years old it was rock'n'roll. I veered off from time to time. Race car driver. Jet pilot. I would preach if I knew what to preach. You can only fill so many sermons with "be nice" and "love."

There would have been no big pay days if I had preached. No mega churches, no television.

It's doubtful that I would have dribbled milk on my driver's suit in the winner's circle at Indy, either.

There are no gold records on the wall here. I'm not bragging. I'm not complaining, either. I do what I do and I've always done the best I can. If my job is to sell lots of records and to fill arenas, I have failed rather spectacularly.

It was never any ambition of mine to master any musical instrument. I've never spent any time practicing scales. I often warble off key and I don't know onomatopoeia from alliteration.

Oh, I'm still not bragging. Maybe I'm just lazy. 

All of my drive and ambition goes towards being the best human being that I can. Maybe I should have practiced more of those scales. I'm always adjusting after screwing something up, disappointing someone, hurting another person.

The closest I have come, and maybe the closest I'll ever come, to any degree of self actualization came in the first grade. That was my real rock'n'roll heart.