Growing up at the foot of the Rocky Mountains during the turbulent late 1960s and early 1970s, I had more than my share of exposure to every kind of "high". Living next to the "Mile High City" of Denver was one physical high, hiking to the top of 12,000 ft high mountains was definitely another 'high'. Home was in Boulder, the hippie capital of the world, which provided opportunity for the prevalent psychedelic 'high'. The "Rocky Mountain High" sung by John Denver in 1972 described a peaceful kind of 'high' that was elusive to me. One thing was for sure, I was anything but high on hope. My life lacked meaning, purpose, and passion. Oddly enough, I was determined to be an excellent student, and possibly be the only teenager in the county to refuse to drink, try drugs, or be sexually active. I took great pride in being a "goody-two-shoes". But not because I was such a great religious person. In fact the opposite was true. I was clueless about God and all religion. My high moral standards were due mostly to my highly moral parents, and because I was afraid to do anything that would displease them. I also had a few wonderful girlfriends. Fear ruled my life for over forty years, so I'm just now grasping my true identity, allowing myself to dream, and live in real hope. It's been a rough life-journey, but worth every step...
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