Recently, I engaged in a conversation with a friend of mine and we were discussing why we did not cry at funerals (as is typically the custom in American society). It is not because we view death as a pleasurable instance, or because we are morbid. The reason why we would not cry at someone’s funeral (considering it was someone that we cared for) is because in our eyes, someone’s death is something that should be celebrated, not frowned upon. Someone’s funeral should be a celebration of their life, not a glorification of their death. Ironically, no matter how important you may be while on this planet, you always become that much more important once you are dead.
These words are not an exercise in some morbid or depressing behaviour (which I can admit to displaying at times) but more of a cautionary tale. I am sure you have already heard millions of times from motivational speakers (those who get paid for it and school counsellors alike) that it is important that you live everyday like it is your last because one of these days it will be. And while we all can attest to the infallibility of that statement, we can also attest to the unlikelihood of us following such sound advice. Consequently, writing such a composition would be an exercise in futility and a complete waste of time to I (the writer) and to you (the reader). The purpose of this composition is to simply make a request, a request that will become more evident as you continue to read. Unlike my brief allegory in the beginning however, no gun will be placed to your head.
As of now (Friday, September 10th, 2004) the average American will watch over ten hours of “reality” television a week. Although my math is slightly fuzzy (I never enjoyed the subject) I happen to have a handy calculator nearby which tells me then that ten (the hours of “reality” television watched) multiplied by fifty-two (the number of weeks in a year) translates into over five hundred and twenty hours (a year) of the average American life is spent watching someone else live. That means that out of the fifty-two weeks that exist in a calendar year, the average American actually spends only forty-nine of those weeks living his own life, and spends the other three weeks eagerly watching someone else live theirs. In many ways, such a fact startled me, but after giving it some thought I am amazed that it is only ten hours a week. If such a figure does astonish you however, I encourage you to take a closer look into the lives of our peers and even the lives of those many years our senior. Watch as they spend their days clutching to their torturous mediocrity and wallow in their obviously uncomfortable comfort.
Why would they allow themselves accept such a fate? I am not bashing those whose lifelong dream is the white picket fence, with the token wife and 3.2 kids. If that is what you want out of life, I encourage you to do everything in your power to achieve that ideal. What saddens me however is that I have had the displeasure far too often to meet people who wanted everything but the aforementioned yet find themselves in such a predicament. Their unconscious is screaming so loudly, that only animals with extrasensory perception can hear them. These are people who dreamt long and hard about various quests and adventures that would span the globe, only to settle for a cookie cutter house in the suburbs, a promiscuous daughter who is on her second abortion, and a wife who nags all of the time. Yet, every morning they wake up with a painted smile on their face; turn up the music for their two hour commute to work with the hopes that the morning show can drown out the expletives resounding in their cerebrums.
Are you not entertained? Is this not the American dream that our forefathers bled and died for us to have? A life filled what society tells us will make us happy, what our society denotes as successful, and what society tells you will make you the envy of all of your friends (and they wonder why wealthy people blow their brains out)? To those who this does not appeal to, the American dream is becoming the American nightmare. There are those of you who may read this and convince yourself that there must be more to your existence than this; that you cannot be living only to have your life to resemble a cubicle: the same as everyone else around, and rather compact. To those who you who do not find pleasure in the American dream, you may be experience a bit of dissonance; you have been force fed the American dream your entire life, yet for some reason or another you have rejected it. You remind yourself that it must be the right path or else you would have never been placed on it to begin with, yet your mind rejects it.
What will you do now? Your education, many of your peers, your society on the whole has prepared you for this. What will your parents think of you if you did not pull up to their house in your oversized sports utility vehicle in ten years? Will they consider you a failure if you opt for an ivory coloured picket fence, instead of a white one? In spite of all of this, your mind continues to reject the mediocrity of the American dream. If something is so easily attained (there are over 10,000 homes in my neighbourhood alone) that “dream” that is American is appearing more like a reality. Yet, we make it seem like owning some glorified hearse (for all of those kids that you do not have) and driving an hour and a half to reach your suburban paradise is the most arduous task that we could ever achieved. How ironic is it then that the very people for whom this composition was intended have the painful pleasure of being fruits of the American dream achieved. Just how ironic is it, that my peers who live in those suburban paradises (myself included) and drive those insane large automobiles (like myself) may be the ones who have the largest disdain for it?
Many of us, meaning the generation that exist as a result of our parents, are currently on destinations without journeys. That is to say, that we are completely aware as to where we may want to go but have no earthly idea as to how we will get there. Unlike the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, our objectives are invisible and out of our current reach. Much like a belief in a deity or the thing called love, we cannot deny their physical intangibility yet we strongly believe in them anyway. Our fate then, is only governed by something perhaps even more intangible and uncontrollable than the aforementioned - our faith. On the road of practicality and convention, the road is pristine and filled with light and clear paths, for many people have taken the journey before you. The road of uncertainty is denied such luxuries. Few people venture unto this road and because of this the lights are beginning to fade away, the neglected road has become jagged and tumultuous; the fog is dense and deeply affects your visibility.
Those who are brave enough to undertake the challenges that are presented on the journey of uncertainty often face the daunting task of going about it alone, because everyone else around them are on the road of practicality where it is safe and certain. It is this journey that I hope to make slightly easier with this composition. Many of you whose eyes will beset this composition have already begun the journey through the sand and the fog or intend to do so in the future. I am not here to make it easier because that is impossible, nor am I here to tell you that it will be worth it, because it very well may not be. What I am doing is offering my hand in assistance; that we may travel this road together. That you may gaze upon this road, seeing all of the dangers and adventures that lie ahead, yet find solace that there is someone next you. That myself and others may be the proverbial footprints in the sand, not to carry you should you fall, but to remind you that we walk next to you in spirit. To many of you who may read this composition, our eyes may never meet and our voices never heard, the only thing I can offer to you then is my spirit intertwined within these words.
Essentially what I present to you my peers, my enemies, my friends and loved ones is a challenge. A challenge that requires you challenge not only our society and all of its conventional wisdom - but yourself; to realize and achieve the full extension of your limits and to exhaust your human potential. I am challenging you to become giants among men and women, to create the Picasso’s, Einstein’s, Shakespeare’s and Rockefeller’s of the futures and that like them we will forever be remembered in for our place in history. For the past three years, I have had dreams and intentions of changing the very world that we all reside in. With every passing day, I work to bring this dream, no matter how impossible it may seem into fruition. I realized some time ago that this is not something I have the capacity to complete such a task by myself; it is finally that I find the proper words to ask for your help. Few people attempt to change the world, and an even a fewer number has actually succeed. Roughly ten people may read this composition intimately and over a thousand publicly: a mere thousand among 6.6 billion people that exist on this planet, out of that thousand, a number much lesser than that will actually accept this challenge.
Why continue to suppress the very things that make you human? Your ego, libido, and instincts are all there for a very good reason, yet, we expend a great deal of energy making sure that everything that our unconscious drives produce is shoved to the deepest regions of our brain. In order to change the world, the change must begin in ourselves. For reasons that dominate my intelligence, we seem to possess this idea change is the work of a dark force; that by changing such a thing as your countenance (for example) is a vain attempt to alter your genetic predisposition. The phrase, “You cannot change who you are…” is lethargic for, “There are various facets of my personality that I would love to change, but I am afraid it would take far too much effort.” Such thinking (or lack thereof in this case) makes it easier to understand why many of us choose the road most frequently traveled, after all, why should I learn how to fish when I could just obtain some from the supermarket? Why should I think for myself, when society will gladly think for me? Sadly, they may have a point.
In order to challenge convention then, you must have the intestinal fortitude to challenge yourself. What can you not do? What do you deem impossible? If familiarity really does breed contempt, I may begin to understand why so many human beings loathe themselves. They replace their passion with fear; replace faith with the assumption of failure. Many of us are so afraid of our own existences, it surprises me little how abysmally we fair when it comes to others. Courage is not that absence of fear, but merely the idea that something is greater than that fear. I have been afraid every single day that I have walked on this road of uncertainty and ironically that is the very thing that has kept me on the pavement. Perhaps this instance is merely a result of some inherent masochism I possess, if that be the case then disregard everything that I have written.
I get the feeling however, that it is not just me who has this inherent masochism. I think that deep down inside of us, all of us, is someone who lives for the peril and the seemingly insurmountable risks that lie ahead on this journey. This challenge is about self-discovery, about pushing yourself to a limit that you have yet to surpass. Conquering a fear that has held dominion over you for as long as you could remember and taking what you want out of life rather than life taking what it wants from you. Immortality has already been given to all of us, it is our choice as to whether or not we choose to receive this gift. Go ahead… open it.
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