Life

It was two o’clock that afternoon, and I remember the time because the large clock that towers and shadows through the never ending sea of corporate city zombies and dudgeons that seem to roam the streets (oddly) in the day time had just struck, and for this reason a great pack of pigeons had suddenly taken flight. A man sat on a park bench, opposite me, with his Rolex watch, Armani suit and no doubt expensive shoes- however even more interesting were the series of five scratch-it and lotto tickets that he held so desperately in his hands. And his hands were wobbling as he scratched away, furiously, and as he peered up from his desperation, inhaling sharply on a cigarette, it seemed his very soul had been hollowed and cracked into pieces; left for the pigeons to carry off to the breezes. I watched the man and swore never to become that- a walking talking experiment of corporate wastage and personal happiness sacrificed. The man made a stand and he turned to trudge back to his office; back to the environment for which he would go to meet expenses.

From wide eyed and I-am-so-curious-about-the-world-beginnings where children, behind closed eyes, nightly swoon over faraway lands, dreams of dancing and space travel plans it appears somewhere between high school and death we are pinned down and corrupted by notions that appear to link financial success exclusively with personal well being. Ironed into our souls through the media is the idea that if we are rich, we will be happy. We study to become accountants, lawyers and businessmen where fluorescent light lit hallways become our daily surroundings and trips to the coffee machine our thoughts of forbidden pleasure. And of course the result is typically mundane yet accepted. Society rises early from Monday to Friday, herded off like cattle to jobs they despise, talking about places they would rather be, but all the while feigning happiness because, suckling from the tit of the all-mighty dollar which will allow them to accumulate things: ‘this-is-how-it-was-supposed-to-be.’ But this is not living! Why do we choose to exist for such inconsequential meaningless reasons? As Jack Kerouac lends, where once the Russians slaved away for the state, now the world slaves away to meet expenses- everything is measured in dollar signs and certain pre-defined eloquences are being lost to tides of structured normalcy.

Conservative, narrow minded and conceited parents, suits, teachers and other disappointingly dreadful souls who have had neither the time nor inclination to remove themselves or allow their dependants to leave from immediate situations and really experience or exist. ‘No Johnny, you will not be heading overseas for a year of frivolity and traipsing- no you will stay here and get your life on track- otherwise how will you ever get ahead!?’ And this is exactly the issue. Life is not a series of competitions- write everything down neatly between the lines and be sure to leave your name at the top kind of musings- we are not given a score or a mark upon our death bed. Rather it will be inner evaluations that pass through our thoughts and time spaces when we breathe those final breaths. Why do we increasingly lower our quality of life, raise stress levels and purchase items we will never have the time to use? It will not be the BMW parked in our driveway that makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside, but instead, perhaps, intangible recollections of times spent with friends dirty and thirsty scrambling down back trails of lands distant towns and sands. Those times when we were living and learning and loving- the earth a classroom for which interactions and connections had replaced books and memories our teachers. Backpacking, gap years, mid-life crisis wanderings, mindless world traipsing are almost demonized in some circles; seen as frivolous time wasters on the road to accepted success rather than actual roads themselves. Some ask, ‘when are you going to get your life on track?’ And of course I just smile, thinking, ‘when will you?’