Goodnight Daydream Believer
Davy Jones passed away yesterday and as usual it threw me for a loop. I don't know why I get so shocked when a celebrity from my youth dies, especially rock stars (or faux rock stars as the case may be). I think part of it is that I want to remember them as they were at their peak. When I saw a recent picture of Davy Jones, he looked very much his age (66), but still had some of that youthful dash to him as well.
Another part of it is the realization that if it's happening the them it can surely happen to me. They were the invincible, inspirational stars of my youth and to have them dropping off it unsettling to say the least. One of my favorite bands of the 80s, the Cars, had their bassist die a few years back from cancer. Not right. Michael Jackson, never a big fan, but not right. Michael Hutchence of INXS, not right. Whitney Houston and all the rest, not right. Too young, too soon.
It's good to see my preoccupation with my mortality is alive and well. As unhealthy as it is, it is serves to inspire me to enjoy the moment and the day a bit more. I think of the Monkees riding unicycles and in their cool car and it seems like yesterday, but that was over forty years ago. Life flies by if you let it. I spent the first fifty years not realizing how precious each day was. I plan to change that for the next 30 or so.