Sitting in The Grind working, Wilco’s Summerteeth streaming through the speakers, it strikes me that my life at this very moment — and at many other moments throughout the day — is exactly as I would have wanted it twenty years ago. As a teenager, I spent hours dreaming of a day when I’d live in a big city, inhabit artsy spaces, and know myself so well that no one could make “me” waver. It’s odd (though not surprising) that I’d forget a sense of longing so deep I thought it would either existentially torture me forever or kill me in its intensity. But people do grow up, moving so far away from teenage daydreams that we forget how painfully promising we sensed our lives would become. Until, I suppose, something from the past wafts into our minds to the beat of She’s a Jar and we come to realize — without a whiff of dishonesty — that, yes, we are fully content with the way things have turned out. Finally.