Future imperfect
by Jon Worley

Last weekend in Detroit, another of our group tied the knot. "Our group" consists of a rather sizable set of people who, for one reason and another, decided they liked each other. We get together about once a year for one of these events, and often the occasion is marked by who didn't get there as much as by who did.

This time, our friend John got himself stuck in Battle Creek after a too-close encounter with a recap. Barbara and I sympathized, as we spent an entire year there, and really didn't wish even an overnight encounter on anyone. John spent Saturday morning arranging for repair of his car (it won't be ready until Wednesday) and a rental to get him to Detroit. The closest available car was in Kalamazoo, and somehow he talked a BC cabbie into a $30 tab for a 30-mile drive to the Kalamazoo-Battle Creek Airport (which is actually located in Portage, but whatever) to get his replacement. He missed the wedding, but made the reception.

And so, by Saturday night, every one who was going to make it was there. We stood there while the DJ played his "alternative" set (which turned out to be "Love Shack" and "Just the Way You Are") before getting right back into the Dan Fogelberg. John and I escaped early, as we both we able to display an allergic reaction to the music.

The rest of the folks slowly trickled back to the dirt-bag motel where we had been placed. Pictures of John's now five-month-old son were passed about and the rest of us tried to explain precisely how we were planning not to plan our futures. A run-down of the current occupations of the attendees (and bride and groom): two reporters, two law school students, a couple graphic artists, one advertising copy writer, one editorial assistant at a New York publisher and a couple of completely indescribable jobs.

These are all respectable enough positions (with the possible exception of "aspiring hack writer" and "mountain man"), but now four or five years out of college, we all expected to be a bit further. At the very least, we figured we'd be making enough money to live at least comfortably. Some of us are more comfortable than others, but there is little satisfaction in our ranks, either in occupation or cash value.

And so we get together every year or so as one or more of us gets married, and we talk about the same thing. We all have big plans, and some of us have quite a few interesting accomplishments, but we're never satisfied. I have a feeling that we'll never be satisfied, even if one of our ranks is elected president, another wins a Pulitzer, another wins a national book critics award and another makes the front page of Newsweek while chained to a manatee. This eventuality is not as far-fetched as it seems. You don't have to go to Harvard to become a member of a power clique.

I've read many speculative columns that say these impulses are just the natural desires and insecurities of the Baby Bust (more recently known as Generation X). Yeah, maybe. That's why I'm going to my high school reunion, to see how satisfied that group of mostly non-college educated folks feel about their lives. Perhaps they don't have nearly as much as I do in terms of cash, notoriety or experiences, but they might be happier anyway. Sometimes I think there might be something to learn there.

But most of the time I think ambition is better than satisfaction. Sure, as long as we're ambitious, we can never be satisfied with today. Ambition, however, gives us tomorrow. Kasey Kasem always says "Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars". Yeah, that's awfully cheesy, but it's not a bad idea, either. As long as we don't feel trapped by the present, we can possibly enjoy it a bit more, without sacrificing our dreams.

Jon Worley is back at home in York, Penn., recovering from a vicious viral infection. If the antibiotics don't take, memorials can be made to the Everybody Gets Laid foundation.

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