In the early ’70s, when smog saturated the new skyscrapers in LA, hope and faith hung in the haze. The filthy air expelled by autos and factories created spectacular sunsets at the beach, paradoxically. Longhairs wore Nehru jackets, tie-dyed shirts, and hippie beads, while a sense of adventure wafted in the Venice boardwalk’s breeze. Our generation wouldn’t submit to the slaughter like our parents and capitulate to that static reality. We’d make sure our grasp wouldn’t restrain our reach.
The rebellion manifested in more than wardrobe. Cultural movements and mold-breaking music propelled many to burn their bras, three-piece suits, and draft cards. Young adults found a fondness for Eastern mysticism and philosophy. Meditation, incense, and candles served as amulets for an updated worldview. We could fly like NASA into outer space or contemplate our navels and travel inward. Our mission? To “be here now,” as articulated in the book by that name written by the bearded LSD advocate Richard Alpert, known internationally as Ram Dass. The prevailing sentiment among those under thirty? We occupy this body only for a short time, let’s evolve on the soul level and expand our minds to the benefit of all humankind.
I blinked a couple of times and 2025 arrived. Which made me wonder: in the decades that followed the revolution of the spirit that defined the ’60s and ’70s, how did our society succumb to unadulterated narcissistic greed? Why did heartfelt promises of peace and love turn into a vast income disparity, where gluttonous businessmen pocket gazillions of dollars while hundreds of thousands of disenfranchised citizens starve on the streets? How did civil rights become the enemy and wicked white supremacy turn friendly and mainstream? When did our longing for awakening and healing shatter into broken dreams?
I’m not a social scientist, nor am I qualified to opine, but I’ve got some simplistic ruminations on a complicated concept. Talk is cheap. It’s easy to say you want change. Doing the work is another story. The owners of this country killed the education system and medicated us via TV so we’d lose our capacity to critically think. Trillions of dollars of advertising promoted diseases with fancy acronyms, cured only by the prescription drugs that we were instructed to “ask your doctor” to procure for our anguished needs. Fake images aroused our pleasure centers until we surrendered to superficial images of success. It’s not a surprise that we now sink in a cesspool of social media in a dystopian post-truth age.
Somewhere in the mid-’70s, our country took a wrong turn. In the ’80s, the government withdrew social programs and passed legislation that ensured the masses stayed underpaid. It’s hard to serve the community when you’ve got a family to feed on a minimum wage. We got too beaten down to care about anyone else or better ourselves with a good read. People didn’t develop spiritually. We succumbed to materialism because our priorities became misplaced. We didn’t follow the road map of the righteous: obey the golden rule, do good deeds, give to the less fortunate, meditate, pray, and strengthen your muscles of faith. We forgot we’re divine beings on a magical journey to higher consciousness. We worshipped hedonism, the golden calf of our day. All told, we sold our souls—on the cheap. We got lost in a house of mirrors built by those who laughed all the way to their safety deposit boxes and CDs.
I don’t pretend to offer rare insight. I’m as guilty as the next person. I spent those decades chasing fun and games. I justified my spiritual truancy by believing that beer and pot were sacred tools of artistry. I wrote songs but also manufactured misery through dry heaves, headaches, anxiety, bad romance, and an arrest for drunk driving. I blamed it on William Blake: “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” That proverb contains a pebble of truth, but it’s not a reliable strategy. No one gave me a handbook or a step-by-step guide on maturity, and I would’ve used it as an ashtray if they had.
Alas, my marriage at age thirty-four and subsequent birth of my children delivered a higher calling that transcended my zeal for charades on this revolving mortal stage. Kids learn by what you do more than what you say. Thus I chose to stay honest, reveal my real feelings, and be present in the here-now for early mornings and late nights, for their highs and lows, and for when they shared their special truths. I also tried to emphasize peace and love like in the ’60s and ’70s. We’re all marooned on earth’s surface, so it makes sense to lend a helping hand, work hard, and then go sing and play. Be yourself, build boundaries, but try to make the world a better place. Sometimes it’s as simple as taking out the trash before someone asks, showing up on time for your family, putting that damn shopping cart back where it belongs, or letting a stranger go in front of you in line at the store.
What do you think? Where exactly did we go wrong, collectively and individually? Why did the ’60s and ’70s descend into decades of broken dreams?
Please post your thoughts.