Stop walking like Charlton Heston: is this an existential crisis?

Today, as I was walking back from a trip to the beach, I caught sight of my shadow on the pavement and thought to myself, “Christ, stop walking like Charlton Heston.” I’m not even sure what I meant by this, but “stop walking like Charlton Heston” made me laugh. My inner critic sometimes says funny shit. Like yesterday when I was meditating and thought, “What are you, Jim Morrison?”

You know what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about angst and evolution and guts and death and rebirth. Gnarly…