Saturday

A friend of mine is scheduling a couple of trips overseas. I'm reminded of the song "Why oh why do the wrong people travel." When you go someplace, aren't you supposed to bring it back with you, to enter into the experience, to be affected even if you don't effect anyone you meet. But she just sort of goes to places for a few days because you're supposed to.

I can never explain immediately why I feel how I feel about a thing, or about the lives of the friends I came of age with. All of their lives are so different and yet, different from mine. It may be an American thing, but most of the people I know sort of drift from thing to thing, maybe--sometimes--the thing is even a pleasure. But there isn't much meaning. There isn't a lot going on. It's as if the old ideas of purpose, calling and meaning are... just that... old ideas.