In 1968 when I was living with my wife and two children in a top story 7 room Victorian flat in the Haight for $164 dollars a month, and working downtown on Montgomery Street for a computer consulting company, It never occurred to me to think about making money.
I was making plenty of money, and thinking about it was so square. I was actually embarrassed to be making as much money as I was already. I was dropping acid pretty much every weekend, and it wasn’t no micro doses. It was orange sunshine or equivalent.
It’s hard to believe now, but at that time San Francisco was no more expensive than Cleveland or Des Moines. I could have bought real estate in the upper Haight. I could have started my own business and ridden the microcomputer wave. I could have done a lot of things, but it never even entered my mind. I flew around the country consulting, programming. I bought a fancy stereo setup, with a reel to reel tape recorder and giant speakers with my travel expenses.
If I had just stuck with it I would have been right there at ground zero when the Apple II, and later the Mac, came on the scene. Instead I was on the Farm, seduced by dreams of enlightenment. Well, if enlightenment is the dropping away of illusion, I’m way more enlightened now. Wish I had been when I made all those stupid decisions.
I love my life. I love my wife. I love our house. I love what I do to make a living. I even love our beat-up 2010 Scion XB and our 2008 Toyota Tacoma. I never expected to own such fine vehicles. I have many internet-connected devices. I have multiple sources of high quality television programming. My stereo is not expensive, but it’s way better than the one I had in 1970.
I really have nothing to complain about. If it weren’t for envy I would be completely content.
But I coulda been a contender. Enough money to not worry. Maybe more than that. Maybe multiple homes. Maybe a plane. Maybe popularity. Would I be happier? Who knows? Probably not, for one reason or another.