Why Not Do Something a Little Punk Rock?

I’m getting old, but I still ache to be a rock star.

Photo by Caz Hayek on Unsplash

I float through unpleasant issues while being intuitively receptive. I go through mystery and uncertainty. Somewhere men are lining their pockets with money. A rich man folds his wad of cash as his predatory incisors gleam golden in the California sun.

I blink and am blinded by Canadian snow. My life feels devoid of what it should have been. I should have been a rock star. Not this woman who I avoid looking at in the mirror. This aging woman waddles through this small city clad in a Douglas clan tartan cape.

And, nobody cares about my ancestral roots. They don’t care if I descended from Scotland’s Good Sir James Douglas, also known as the Black Douglas to the Brits. Nobody gives a flying fish about it.

I’ve wasted my life by not being a rock star.

Where did it all go so wrong? How did I get so far off my life path? Why am I left only wishing to be reincarnated as a Billy Idol? Why must I dream it rather than be it?

One I was a tender young child. A child who planned on being a cow-girl country star singer as an adult. I wanted to sing! I wanted to be famous! I wanted to ride horses!