College was often more about taking the motorcycle to the pool hall. There was no helmet law. I had long hair and most likely wore a black t-shirt and jeans. Conversation centered around the cruel, yet meaningful cycles of life; the futile despair of bourgeois, American materialism; and, of course, babes. At that time it seemed almost commonplace that life was, for all intents and purposes, over after your thirtieth birthday. I feel the same way now about Sansabelt slacks.
Today, the reality hits hard. I am over 50 years old. The motorcycle is a more sensible commute vehicle. The black t-shirt and jeans are still the uniform when not in the work garb. Constant change and yet feeling the same is the monitor by which I view my world.
I know myself a bit better now than I did in those overly uniformed, college years. I envision a clear path before me even as I approach new things and adventures. I intend to push those Sansabelt pants way, way into the future.