The future is a terrible place, in my view.
I was born in 1980.
The 1990s was a wonderful place to come of age. Opportunity seemed endless. I was doing anything and everything I wanted. School was warm, nurturing, splendid. I was involved in numerous extra-curricular activities, mainly arts-oriented.
Outside of school, the winter ice crackled spectacular underfoot and the summer breeze cooled the leaves. Bicycles turned to car wheels. Riding was the stuff life is made of.
On the periphery of consciousness, in the media, the economy was booming harder than ever before. The human condition was getting better all the time, as far as we knew.
Friendship was solid, dependable. Love was rich, sincere, committed.
I was 21 when the planes hit the towers. I took it pretty hard.
Since then everything has seemed bleak. The first decade of the 21st century have been rough on me. I have not aged gracefully. Numerous false career starts have left me doubting I will ever find a solid niche and wondering whether I should even try. Numerous of my personal friendships and romantic relationships have shattered.
The false promise of the 1990s have left me with the 2010 blues. Thirty years old and I’m stuck in the mud with little desire to even spin my tires, let alone get out and push.