As a teenager I was under the common romantic impression that my life would follow a comprehensible trajectory, like a narrative vector of some kind. I considered myself mature to realize that there would be occasional detours, a few deadends that would require backing up and starting over. I liked to imagine myself handling these obstacles with precocious philosophical equanimity, a quality I took anticipatory pride in (and which, unsurprisingly, I've not even come close to achieving). I was so caught up in this idea that it never occurred to me that it was totally unrealistic. Where does this road metaphor come from anyway? Is it primarily an American thing? Why would anyone become enamored of this road idea in the first place? I love Albert Brooks' lines in Lost In America, when he's lamenting his career path of corporate advancement: "I was on the nowhere road. Do you know the road? It's a nowhere road, it goes nowhere. It just goes around in a circle. It's the carrot on the stick and the watch when you're 70." Of course nowadays even the watch is extremely iffy, the notion of pensions and retirement parties after a lifetime with one company is quaint today.

But even beyond the career thing, I was in thrall to the dream of a life that would at least make sense in retrospect. I assumed that whatever angst or confusion or apartness I felt would be gradually replaced by mature clarity, of comfortableness with myself, even if that perspective had a price of searing regret and the enfeeblement of age. Not the greatest consolation, but I thought my unblinking understanding of this put me ahead of the game. I mean, what's the point of being young and powerless and bewildered if you don't pick up some wisdom and calmness later on? What's the point of experiences and foolish mistakes if they don't teach you anything? Well, of course the answer is there is no point, it's a nowhere road, it goes nowhere.