The influence of the past, and the ideas of what it was, what it represents, and what it means; seem to affect every aspect of modern man, as well as modern men of the past. It gives us incite for decisions; historical scenarios in which to reference for future dilemmas and tells us basic surroundings and procedures of common occurrences such as money, life, love and government. The past is so full of stories, twists and angles; its categories are broken up into examinations of sociology, philosophy, agendas, facts, counter-facts and questions. Outside of the general texts, and general agreed upon ideas comes the individual, and within each individual comes more of these categories, and more questions; a single person we can never truly know everything that has come to pass. So to choose a single era is essential for those without a continuous curiosity of long transpired events. The person who doesn’t corner his or her self in knowing everything that can be known in study of a certain era, are left to the common ideas of it. The sum of all the books, TV, movies, and stories of elders giving a conceptual portrait of that time period: what it looked like, what it felt like, what the overall moral was. In this we each have our own idea of the past, and at an ever-growing 6 billion ideas, the past probably means more now than it did then, at least in terms of the individual. To the person who uses the past in general; certain places with morals in time that influence their common un-educated life, the Golden Ages are all we have. The general ideas of certain periods: those context-less conceptual portraits of selected eras, are all a man who wants to move forward with modern businesses, jobs and life has as personal influence of the past.

I’ve found that as I get older, I’m becoming more attracted to the virtues and principals of a much older way of living. It’s a given that as time passes, nostalgia and fundamentals on what we were brought up with start to become more real. That with every new day we are confronted with new technology, tools, rules, codes of conduct, previously frowned upon vocabulary and lifestyles that now are common practice.

It’s only a matter of time before you realize that as you judgingly look upon the next generation, and wonder how they will ever make it with morals like that, that you see the way our grandfathers once looked at us in disgust as we swore and wasted time. The generations pass each other, and you feel as still-living-old did as you watch the youth waste their gift of age on the new and hip; that the proverb of your grandmother used to say: ‘Youth is Wasted on the Young’ suddenly rings true in your mind. Of course while this is true, it also holds a contradictory standard that you really can’t appreciate anything until it’s gone. So while we like to view our elders as having lived every moment as if it was their last, we know that they were once judged for spending too much time at the river instead of working a paper-route, or spending their money on x-ray glasses when it could have been put to something more practical. So the hypothetical Golden Age of youth seems to always exist at the start of 40-year intervals.

Such is life.

In the eyes of the general elder, things were always better when they were young.

But I’ve found as I get older, I and those I surround myself with, seem to take a different approach to time passing. We seem to look to the Golden Ages of times we never knew, past the stories and actual told experiences for ones with no personal record.

Such as the believers in the ‘moral fundamentals of marriage’ do with the 50’s; forgetting the common spousal abuse problems, neglected children, high divorce rates, and all the other inconsistencies that get in the way of the picturesque man and wife, happy family around the television, and focus on the more positive conceptual picture. Unlike those people however, I like to think that I don’t judge the modern morals of others based on my own found pre-life driven morals, but I could be wrong.

The idea of ‘vintage’ as a good thing: Antiques, new music influenced by old, classic clothing, old interior décor, etc.  Examples of what one would expect to find in a house with people past their prime and living out the wave of nostalgia, and concepts of tradition. Ask an elder who can liberally view life, and not one with the set mind of ‘all new is bad’, and you will find they will admit that in their youth, they couldn’t wait to escape any and everything related to their parents. Traditionally this is the way it’s done, and it wasn’t until they made themselves individuals that they came to terms with the fact that their parents had given them life, and then they gave them theirs. What is different for some in this new generation is how fast the lust for the old comes. All those examples of the old suddenly appear in the rooms and lifestyles of those who should be staying caught up with the new, as for one day filling the setting behind their wrinkled skin with nostalgic material, and judging the youth with their old-fashioned morals. What’s strange is that these lifestyles and personality traits are not just products of what one would assume was a person raised from a traditional family; carried on instituted ways of thinking from past generations. Stranger still, is that these old traits exceed where family tradition would have given them personality and mannerisms, and go back to times of Golden Ages before certain family values would be taught.

As you may have guessed, the reason I find this topic so interesting is that it applies to myself. I surround myself with thoughts, objects and dreams of times I never knew; record players, 1960 Ford Falcons, and typewriters all surpassed by newer, more reliable object-grandchildren; most of them out-of-tech long before I was born. I listen to music that calls for revolutions from the voices of Credence Clearwater Revival and Neil Young; their songs now only tales of history, rather than a declaration towards current events. My idols were all dead before I was even a twinkle in the eye of an egg and sperm, so rather than living mentors I have only works and pictures to interpret and apply into current life; something I wonder about time and time again because the human side of these figures can never be truly known. My ‘alone time’ attempts to achieve allocations from Golden Ages of solitude: Cowboys on open ranges and dirty seedy bars with one or two patrons; lonesomely dealing with the days thoughts at the bottom of a pint glass as Hank William plays from a 45 jukebox: for some reason this seems ideal for dealing with the day.

In my Golden Age eyes architecture is better the more rugged and plainer it gets, and writing is better when style is equal to content. I simply cannot read Dan Brown because for me entertainment takes a back seat to unique prose; however the dead masters of this, dealt with writers block or found muses in the form of alcohol or in some cases pedophilia, so perhaps I should cut him some slack for being a good person, even if it does effect his writing. A subject for another article entitled: ‘Benefits of the Dead Artist’.

The line between ‘Article’ and ‘Journal Entry’ is defined by the accessibility of the writing to the unknown reader. So before I continue to embark down my own road, I should glance at a broader outcome of a Golden Age: The concept of individual freedom.

In a time when complete freedom is no longer possible (thank you: outcome of the 60’s); freedom from normal life comes in the form of what I  call ‘Wanderlust’.

Wanderlust can be categorized in many ways, and has taken many forms in the different stages of evolution, both physiologically and culturally. But the wanderlust I refer to now is one originated from a certain Golden Age dream that starts earlier on.

This early type of wanderlust is part of the legendary American-Western Golden Age, that seemingly is by far the most popular in the American male, as well as the most versatile, ageless, and accessible Golden Age fantasy; at least in a reenactment sort of sense.

It starts with toy twin single action revolvers and a plastic wide-brim hat; familiar attire in the hands and on the heads of young boys as they learn the concept of restraint in the very early years of life. These Golden Age characters were a once living contradiction to everything a young boy struggles against in his adolescence. The rules the cowboys create and break at will, the power and influence of the weapon in their pocket, and ability to do as they please without any real authority are the role models for birds eager to leave the nest. As with all Golden Age fantasies though, the young boys come to realize the reality of this figure, maybe from awareness of how impossible his presence is in today’s world, or maybe becoming aware of the horrible circumstances that actually surrounded those characters whom once lived on the edge. Eventually the dreams of becoming that self-governing cowboy fade and make way for more realistic idols such as police and firemen; not quite the same freedom, but a happy compromise that comes with a degree of that intimidating power.

Still the cowboy’s ability to do as he pleases, and go where he wants are ideals to dream for, despite their impossibility in modern life. There are however, ways to mimic in order to fulfill this deep-seeded lust for being untamed. There is the romantic fantasy of leaving all personal belongings behind, and heading off into the unknown with nothing but the essentials on your back. This does come in more relatable forms, from the pre-college trip to Europe, to the minimalist who represents the Huck Finn in all of us; working odd-jobs just enough to get to the next unknown destination, hoping trains and getting into trouble with others that you meet and feeling as if the world is a story you’re reading.

The purist form is perhaps not as accessible as it was in the days of Kerouac, but the dream and lust is equally as strong.  Kerouac and Cowboys: Golden Ages of Wanderlust.

Music is a curious key into revealing a man contained in the Golden Ages.

It is true that most have equal amounts of classics as well as modern in their library, but I can’t help but look at myself while I question the topic at hand.

Why didn’t the early songs of my generation act as they did with my fathers: Reminders of youth that every few years give two and a half minutes of nostalgia, as they play on a radio because the CD with maturely appreciated modern songs was forgotten at home. Instead the modern songs of the early nineties that were heard while knowing no better died from suffocation; smothered in my head from a deep blanket of guitar riffs and vocal stances on subjects I knew nothing about, from past generations I knew nothing of. For me, the past had somehow overcome the natural order of music preference evolution. The evolution where the father’s taste of music influences that of the sons, where Hank Williams becomes Garth Brooks, Run DMC to 50 Cent, and Led Zeppelin to…well, nobody’s like Zeppelin. Of course the two can go hand in hand, we all know the words to every Beatle’s song even if they were long before our time and are not currently positioned under A in our iPods. The past-modern (an oxymoron to only be used in context), and the long-past-modern can both still exist on different planes of nostalgic appreciation; the old having value, while the new a statement of our independent generation.

But where my eyes should have been looking forward, and where my oldies nostalgia should only be finding joy in the now-nameless one hit wonders of whatever tunes my father had occasionally played, I kept moving around and backward.

The Top 40 charts still exist, and they still play on repeat just as they did in the days of the Wolf-Man Jack until the ears bleed in anticipation for something new. Being a person still in the second quarter of manhood, I should be anxiously awaiting the new release of whatever artist last held the #1 position on the charts while turning up the volume in joy to the recently familiar sounds of new interpretations of Rock’n’Roll, that state generalizations about conformity and rebellion. I should be getting euphoric to the dreamy complex noises of the moderns who cite the grandfathers of cutting edge as influence, and gain respect in their name-dropping to us self-titled music culturists. Instead as I grow older, my taste in music moves farther back; back before the bar of fatherly influence was set as foundation for modern. Old Rock becomes Old Country, and Country stops cutting it, so I turn to the more pure Old Blues. I even caught myself downloading Beethoven in the last year, and wondered that if this trend continues that perhaps by the time I’m old and grey, I would be listening to sticks beating on rocks in a final music regression as flying cars surround me.

This is not about knowing the history of music, or appearing educated in the art. I couldn’t tell you why Elvis was just an impersonation of southern blues, or why John Lennon was only famous because he knew how to rip-off all before him with good publicity. I just know that, as I get older, the less music sounds as if it was made in a studio, the more it catches my ear.

Is it just the California-upbringing that creates an observational outlook towards our own lives? Does a land of plenty eventually make certain citizens yearn for the realistically un-greener grass of simpler times? The truth of the matter is that, like youth, we wouldn’t know what to do with a Golden Age if we could obtain it. The antique lamps, old cars, and music are all just products of their time. The obscurities we appreciate in their appearances are only loved because of the contrast to what we know to be real. If we were to live in the time of that classic car we own, it would be no more recognizable than the Honda Accord. So perhaps music and materials are not true Golden Age lust, just face value snippets of an individual’s appreciation for the past.

I was once told that the designer Ralph Lauren insisted that the screen-door of his ranch home be made to squeak as it opens. If I could write him, I would say he should complete the vision by having apple pie cooking at all times, so the windowsill would always have that end of a long day appearance. Or maybe line his dresser drawers with tobacco, so his clothing would always capture the scent of the workingman, without the dangers of cancer. What I am getting at is the superficial sense of the Golden Age: that the squeaky screen door in its reality is a number at the bottom of a list of weekly tasks, and not a staple of independent freedom. Those materials, such as that old lamp and car, all just gimmicks of a mans interests, and not the person he is, or wants to be.

So if all exterior attempts at living in a Golden Age are simply cosmetic, than what proof is there of a Golden Age lust really existing? Perhaps the only proof lies in the questioning of those talked about morals.

The morals that don’t have a personal origin: Those unique, un-inflicted, un-instituted morals that tells what is right from wrong. The morals we can’t pinpoint a time in our lives when events or lessons adjusted our ethical fiber. Morals that are not purposefully infused into the psyche, but appear without awareness during certain circumstances. Perhaps they are products from ideas of Golden Ages; how a man or woman would have acted when confronted, based on their period of choice’s conceptual portrait.   The Cowboy always stands his ground; The Wanderer seeks enlightenment through unique, strange circumstances; The Gentlemen always pays for drinks and dinner. These are conceptual characters that are made from a million lives of their time. They don’t pertain to any certain individual, but rather a mean of the collected stories from their adventures, lifestyles, and theoretical mannerisms. These behaviors come out in the modern man; in the outer layer, such as Ralph Lauren’s ranch house, and the subconscious; The latter being the true testament to Golden Age Morals, that don’t always come across as they once did as common practice.

To not open a door for a woman is to flex a newly taught restraint muscle; perhaps forgivable if from a traditional upbringing, but inexcusable when born from a modern politically correct family. Fighting feels natural; but stealing and improper manners bring on a strange sickness; strange when thinking how theft and violence by today’s standards are seen as virtues that normally come hand in hand. Promiscuous sex is life in general, but picturesque visions of monogamist love are still the veins that make the bed in the morning: All similarities of a Golden Age of Frank Sinatra.

I’ve stated a lot of questions, and drawn parallels, which come to conclusions that could just be circumstantial. In examining yourself, there are always parts which are overlooked; events that may have occurred in life, but forgotten; lurking variables in our own personal history’s influence. So to sort what is instinctual, what is given, and what is dreamed, can be almost an impossible task.

As with any equation however; if the formula equals the sum, there is no reason to doubt its conceptual genuineness. So to see our beliefs, morals, attitudes, wants, and personas as just a mixed bag of Golden Age concepts, it not only gives incite into our own lives, but gives a knowing strength to the redeemable values of the past. To try and apply every aspect of these Golden Ages to our own devices would not only be impossible, but dangerous, as they have no place in an ever evolving world. But to choose certain samples from selected periods, and integrate them into today’s world, would benefit the individual in staying rooted. Otherwise a man could find himself lost in the modern existence where time will only tell him what is right, or what will eventually be considered wrong.