Who killed the King?

As I outlive some of my musical heroes, I wonder what it was that took them so young. 

What is so special about 27?

Old enough to have ‘made’ it. To be unquenched by the sweet taste of success. Stripped of a normal existence by our voyeuristic culture, they floundered in drug abuse and social withdrawal. Unable to live amongst the people, unable to live as a star.

I have a soft spot in my heart for fat Elvis. Hungry dogs run faster, but old dogs know the tricks. Singing of heartbreak while living a lifestyle preempting heart attack, Elvis showed the dark side of show business. A life acting up for others, surrounded by yes men, and an unchecked glutton's diet. 

In Elvis and the 27 club, I see the same curse. A curse of achievement. 

Oh what a wicked game we play! 

The joy is in the come-up. In goal setting and dreaming.

Dancing alone in blue suede shoes.

We find purpose in the process.

May we never get too comfortable, may we never achieve all of our goals.