(C) DAVID J. CAROL
When I was around 20 years old, I felt like I was living the dream. I felt like I had made it, even though all evidence pointed in the exact opposite direction.
I was sleeping in my friend Tom Vincent's living room, on a red Mediterranean couch, in my clothes every night. I had a plastic milk crate next to the couch that contained all my possessions. I wore a broken and taped pair of black plastic framed glasses that I had bought in Chinatown for around $18, one pair of Doc Marten boots, a beat up leather jacket, and a Leica M4-2 with a 35mm lens. That was it. I owned very little, had no place to live and had no money.
I remember being so happy that everything was going so well. I'm not sure what the point of my story is, but I think it might be that everything is just a matter of perspective. What is success? What is failure? I don't know, but at 20 years old my dreams had come true. The following year I flew stand-by to Paris with my camera, my leather jacket and $300.00 in my pocket. It could have been so much worse.