Life for Me as It was Destined to Be

 

Back in the late ‘60s early ‘70s, I was old enough to join the

Hippie Generation, but was already set on a more traditional

path—emotionally abandoned as a teenager by parental divorce,

a high school dropout, 3-years active duty in the army, married

with two children, car, home job, seemingly secure lifestyle in

suburbia USA.

Oh, I had the untested talent of an artist, the eccentric temper-

ament of a societal malcontent, but had been processed and

preordained by parents and conservative middle-class upbring-

ing to pursue the so-called touted idyllic “American Dream.”

I was raised to believe art was an admirable hobby, but as an

adult, I would certainly face financial responsibilities. I would

likely have a family to support, and my art alone won’t cut it.

No Bob Dylan for me, no Aerosmith, no Hendrix, no Kerouac,

Woodstock or Haight-Ashbury, no pot or LSD either. The mount-

ing years of dutiful adherence to the acceptable societal grind

eventually got the best of me psychologically. I was angry and

deeply depressed. I resorted to alcohol in order to self-medicate.

Job after job, divorce, relationship after relationship, place after

place, city after city, therapy again and again, rehab after rehab,

writing, photography and my artwork in between.

For the bad and good times, for all it was worth, living the

creative rebellious lifestyle which all along I was meant to

achieve became a reality for me. The so-called Hippie Era

was missed and long gone for me. What was meant to be

for the indelible artist in me?

As I see it, not unlike the Hippies, the creative spirit is the

endemic essence of the true artist which runs timelessly on

and on in perpetuity. And is was all worth giving up the

booze and living my own life with The Gift in sobriety.

                                      -30-

Chris Hanch 2-27-2022