Last night I felt lonely. It was Saturday night and I was home alone. Usually I don’t feel this way but from time to time I do. There’s a stigma attached to loneliness, at least as I perceive it. Loneliness is seen as unpleasant, a dis-ease. Loneliness is seen as something that should be cured with
I know from many years of experience, the feeling of being out on a Saturday night and then missing out on the next morning because I was too hung over and tired and wallowing in my disappointment and self-loathing and regret. I think there are people who had it a lot worse. I mean, I was never out of control with it, never hit “rock bottom”, but I saw the pattern of addictive behavior and alcoholism probably going back many many generations and at some point decided that it wasn’t worth it.
It becomes a lifestyle choice. I want to be there and fully present for life as much as possible.
I saw my first Charlie Chaplin movie this year at the age of 54. I was performing in the orchestra for a cinema in concert performance of Modern Times and I’m so glad that it came up on our season schedule because I learned that I LOVE Charlie Chaplin. He is a true genius. Of
I have recently become a huge fan of the artist Banksy. Images like the one at the beginning of this post reflect every indescribably de-humanizing aspect of consumerism with dis-arming humor. His work invokes an emotion, a depth of understanding, that make words a clumsy vehicle in comparison. And his anonymity, his use of public