
1975. Iām 26 years old and my life is just what I always dreamed it would be, yet Iām raw and desperate. Iāve achieved all the things I set out to do: travel, happy marriage, a meaningful job. Iāve somehow proved myself Successful in conventional ways and unconventional ways, taking on all the tasks of being an acceptable member of the Counterculture of the time. And then, without knowing why, I hit a dead end.
It happens in a moment. Iām walking down the street and I suddenly feel flat and hollow inside. Not there. It seems like a dead end: thereās no exit in sight. Iām deeply scared, and my bed seems like the best refuge.