“Cruisin’ and playing the radio with no particular place to go…”
Lost in the mists of long ago, kids spent their evening “cruising the drag”, driving up and down through a particular part of town in a kind of social media on wheels—and what wheels they were—muscle cars, no-go showboats, or just dad’s old pickup. For me and my buddies, it was a ’57 Chevy. Wolfman Jack was blasting on the radio; the windows were down and there was no particular place to go.
But just because we were cruising and going nowhere in particular, didn’t mean there was nothing to it. There were preparations to undertake before hitting Main Street. We didn’t realize it then, but this was preparation for life. There was more to it than just going along for the ride. There were winners and losers, successes and failures, and in-crowds and outcasts. Life on the street was no cakewalk, there were no safe rooms, and participants were entitled to nothing—except maybe the occasional single finger salute. Yeah, I had that coming once or twice.
In the course of all that cruising, I learned that I really was going to some particular place—my own unique place in the world. I had to find that place myself because the world, in those days, didn’t stand aside to accommodate participants. Looking back, the place I made back then somehow resembles the particular place to which I have arrived. What a coincidence, right? Well, maybe not.
People cruising through life in warm fuzzy cocoons and staring at screens are going someplace too. Fortunately, they have evolved and no longer need to learn the lessons of the past. They are woke to the fact that the world owes them a place of their choosing and need only identify it to make it so.
I’m not complaining. I like my place, it’s still under construction, but I made it. I’m proud of it and I defend it. To again quote Mr. Berry, “C’est la vie, say the old folks…”