Jon had a really messy apartment which he charmingly described as “organic”—because there was no specific grand plan involved in where he put his stuff—he just put stuff where he felt like putting it. Another one of my boyfriends insisted on wearing shorts and sandals with bright red woolen socks in the middle of winter—just because he felt like it and because no one else did that—he actually loved it when people looked at him weird. He was arrested for civil disobedience once in Wisconsin, and after receiving a sentence of two months, he petitioned the court and the sheriff to provide him with vegan meals and a composting toilet during his “stay,” saying that it was part of his religious beliefs. He got the food, but not the toilet. Later that year, when we attended a trial involving antinuclear activists in Red Wing, Minn., he refused to stand up when the judge entered the courtroom, telling the bailiff, “If I stand up for the judge, I’d have to stand up for you, and for everyone here.” The bailiff refused to let him enter the courtroom day after day. Finally, on about the fourth day of the trial, the bailiff said, “Oh, just go on in”—frustratedly waving him in.

When I lived in L.A., my boyfriend there liked to drive down the PCH to Point Dume, and crash large boulders into the Pacific. We used to go dumpster-diving in Beverly Hills every Thursday evening—we’d get surfboards, color televisions, microwave ovens, nice stuff—in our apartment, we had seven televisions, all hooked up to the same remote—so when one channel changed, they would all change. We had a punching bag hanging in the middle of our living room—when I got home from work—he would congratulate me for being a hard worker and hand me the gloves to hit the bag while he held it for me. His lust for life was both inspiring and intoxicating. Utopian vision doesn’t have to always require any extra effort—it can mean doing just what you want to do, not what somebody said you were supposed to want to do. Where are all the dreamers? ||