While not being the author Philip K. Dick is a great relief, it leaves a gaping hole in my 20th century experience.
Who was I? Where was I?
I think I’ve mentioned here that I have had competing notions that I had been British in my subsequent life. I feel strangely warm and familiar when I think of England in the 1930s but I have no specific memories. I enjoy the work of Dame Vera Lynn and Sir Edward Elgar and I adore 1930s British car designs. One of my dream cars is the Alvis Speed 25.
I also feel strongly like I might have had something to do with aviation. My best books have a lot of golden age aviation themes, and pilots and engineers have complimented my understanding of how aircraft are designed and flown. Some of my favorite computer games involve flight simulations and I notice I’ve actually got a knack for them. One of the first jobs I wanted in this life was to be a fighter pilot (I was only 2 or 3 at the time) and I still love going to aviation museums and air shows, especially when they bring out the old war birds from WWII. But all of this could be from my background as an air force brat which pretty much sealed my love of aviation from a very early age.
I had briefly considered that I was Nevil Shute, but that would cut into my life as John and the home he grew up in is nothing like the home I remember; John’s childhood home, on the other hand, is a perfect match.
But it’s all very circumspect and there’s just nothing solid. I’m left wondering if there’s anything to it. Maybe I really did just cease to be for most of the 20th century?