BELLINGHAM!
Driven by freedom
As I consider this Independence Day, I think back on the times when I truly felt free or when I had the sensation, albeit brief, that I was living in a moment without restrictions. Like when Dylan says, “To dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free.”
Or when someone cancels a business meeting. Or any other kind of meeting. Or forgets to invite me to a party. That gives me a great sense of relief. Or when I am on my way to a high school reunion, and the plane is grounded for four days because of volcanic ash hanging in the atmosphere. Bless those motor-choking Icelandic volcanoes. Some restrictions on travel can work to one’s advantage.
Here in San Francisco, walking by the water – along the somewhat still unsullied Marina Green – always gives me a sense of freedom, a sense of being renewed. Renewal and liberation are closely linked, I suppose.
One specific example of feeling free comes to mind from 35 years ago. I can see myself, only 21 years old, racing along Marina Boulevard in my 1958 Morris Minor with the top down (as much as one can race in a four-cylinder vehicle), my red scarf blowing behind me. San Francisco-born Isadora Duncan, who was obsessed with breaking down restrictions and celebrating the unfettered life, was undone by driving with a long scarf trailing behind her. The scarf got caught in the wheels of her Bugatti. In an instant, she was freed from this mortal coil.
There was a lot more financial freedom in San Francisco three or four decades ago. Well, things were certainly cheaper. It gave us a sense of independence, even if we were being naive. I’d take the Morris Minor to the gas station and ask for a buck’s worth of gas. It might last a week or so. The service station attendant might even take a check! “Don’t cash it until Thursday,” I’d say. He’d laugh. Everybody seemed to kite checks in the old days. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who even knows the expression today. Of course, little did we know that great financial institutions have been run like this for decades.
We have found that we don’t necessarily have to have foreign enemies undermine us. We’ve done a terrific job of incurring damage from within.
My brother, Paul, also loves the water and enjoys the sense of freedom that it inspires. Not only does Paul go to the beach every day when he’s not on the road, he owns the beach. It’s in front of his house in Pensacola, Florida. Yeah, I know. Uh-oh. He was told the other day that not only may he no longer fish off his beach, he may not go into the water at all. The oil spill pollution has arrived, and it’s going to get a whole lot worse. Along with the restrictions of activities, the Great Gulf Coast Oil Spill brings financial trouble on a huge scale. It brings trouble on many levels. There are intangible fortunes at risk. Families will fall apart. For a great portion of Americans, this is an Independence Day like no other.
Ah, to be that callow 21-year old at the wheel of the Morris all those years ago, never giving a thought to that cheap gasoline and the freedom that it gave me or drove me to. Youth must be the purest form of freedom. It’s a time of life when most consequences have not yet washed up on shore.
Or when someone cancels a business meeting. Or any other kind of meeting. Or forgets to invite me to a party. That gives me a great sense of relief. Or when I am on my way to a high school reunion, and the plane is grounded for four days because of volcanic ash hanging in the atmosphere. Bless those motor-choking Icelandic volcanoes. Some restrictions on travel can work to one’s advantage.
Here in San Francisco, walking by the water – along the somewhat still unsullied Marina Green – always gives me a sense of freedom, a sense of being renewed. Renewal and liberation are closely linked, I suppose.
One specific example of feeling free comes to mind from 35 years ago. I can see myself, only 21 years old, racing along Marina Boulevard in my 1958 Morris Minor with the top down (as much as one can race in a four-cylinder vehicle), my red scarf blowing behind me. San Francisco-born Isadora Duncan, who was obsessed with breaking down restrictions and celebrating the unfettered life, was undone by driving with a long scarf trailing behind her. The scarf got caught in the wheels of her Bugatti. In an instant, she was freed from this mortal coil.
There was a lot more financial freedom in San Francisco three or four decades ago. Well, things were certainly cheaper. It gave us a sense of independence, even if we were being naive. I’d take the Morris Minor to the gas station and ask for a buck’s worth of gas. It might last a week or so. The service station attendant might even take a check! “Don’t cash it until Thursday,” I’d say. He’d laugh. Everybody seemed to kite checks in the old days. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who even knows the expression today. Of course, little did we know that great financial institutions have been run like this for decades.
We have found that we don’t necessarily have to have foreign enemies undermine us. We’ve done a terrific job of incurring damage from within.
My brother, Paul, also loves the water and enjoys the sense of freedom that it inspires. Not only does Paul go to the beach every day when he’s not on the road, he owns the beach. It’s in front of his house in Pensacola, Florida. Yeah, I know. Uh-oh. He was told the other day that not only may he no longer fish off his beach, he may not go into the water at all. The oil spill pollution has arrived, and it’s going to get a whole lot worse. Along with the restrictions of activities, the Great Gulf Coast Oil Spill brings financial trouble on a huge scale. It brings trouble on many levels. There are intangible fortunes at risk. Families will fall apart. For a great portion of Americans, this is an Independence Day like no other.
Ah, to be that callow 21-year old at the wheel of the Morris all those years ago, never giving a thought to that cheap gasoline and the freedom that it gave me or drove me to. Youth must be the purest form of freedom. It’s a time of life when most consequences have not yet washed up on shore.
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay. He has not driven a car in 27 years. Everybody seems to think that’s a good idea. You can reach him by e-mail: [email protected].
