Friday, July 26, 2013

"Now the thing that I call living is just being satisfied"

Last night, a beautiful and very hot summer evening, I was driving home from an appointment at the Cathedral listening to the radio. I heard Gordon Lightfoot's "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," an amazing ballad. Hearing that song made me think of what an amazing and undervalued songwriter Lightfoot is. So, with no further adieu, our Friday traditio is Lightfoot's "Carefree Highway." It's a song that reminds of my Dad, his kind of music.

Searching through the fragments of my dream shattered sleep/I wonder if the years have closed her mind/I guess it must be wanderlust or trying to get free/From the good old faithful feeling we once knew

It's another song about freedom and how not to achieve it, as tempting as it at times. I'd have to say that at least once a week I have a fantasy about slipping away on the carefree highway, before once again realizing it is the "Highway to Hell." Of all the things Sartre was wrong about (he was wrong about almost everything), was his assertion that hell is other people. On the contrary, hell is being all about yourself.

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