Remember the scruffy but lovable traveler with his worn bindle so characterized? The hobo was a gig guy way back when, hopping on trains to make ends meet.
The romance, the adventure, all on your own, responsible to no one in particular. Now an ingrained myth among our other self myths. The loner, the go-getter. The self-made man, the bootstrap hiker-upper.
We love our John Wayne stories of glory, now etched in granite and hanging over us like a scolding aunt’s repeated finger-wagging.
It’s hell trying to live up to the slogans, bumper sticker thoughts, and flag-waving aficionados.