ann

By January of ’81, I had clear goals and focus.  I knew what I wanted – and more importantly I knew I knew what I wanted.  I was conscious, suddenly, that most of my peers seemed to be drifting.  That they weren’t driven by anything.  Didn’t have plans or goals or dreams.  Sure, maybe, they were good people.  But they were just going about business.  Shapeless.  Formless.  They were going off to college, to parties, excelling at whatever they excelled at, I supposed.  Wrestling, golf, shopping.  What did they look forward to?  What did they enjoy?  Who were they?  Maybe they didn’t need focus, like I did.  Maybe, for them, what they had was enough.

I had focus, goals, and a clear path in front of me, and was thrilled to have it.  I wanted to be the best stand-up in town, in America.  I wanted to be on Carson, wanted my own sitcom, maybe join SNL as a writer, performer.  Make movies, win Oscars.  Get attention and love.  And I was enjoying the road to get there.  

I had clarity.

And, perhaps, just a smidgen of arrogance.