I won't lie to you, I'm an
adult. There is no question about it. I have adult
responsibilities; a
business, a
marraige,
lines of credit and
promises that I'm held to. I accept it gladly, I'm ready and capable and I understand that just as my decisions shape who I am, who I am has shaped this shell of
civilization's raiment. Fine. Good.
But, as the saying goes,
it seems only yesterday that I was 18 years old and about to be released from the
prison of
high school, as
free as air- a mind full of ideas and limitless time to explore them all. The world my playground and my only true
responsibility is to find a way to
subsist until tomorrow. To a great extent I have made a good start of that mission in the last decade. I intend to continue making my best effort.
But how easy it is to put oneself in a box!
How many people, no younger or older than me, examine their
limitless possibilities, and decide that they have had enough of
wonder and
joy... that the point of view they once had where they were curious and uninhibited was no longer the person they strived to be. Instead,
(for some reason)
They decide that, if they are to feel safe and happy, they must make a number of exchanges:
-
playing in the name of discovery is replaced by
work in the name of subsistence
- time without
objective is forbidden. You must have a
goal at all times.
-
innocence traded for
cynicism
-
trust traded for
mistrust
-
joy traded for
satisfaction
-
sensation traded for controllable
numbness
It's as if the part of them that was most alive when they were
children has died away, and what's left has reformed itself into an
organism which is
stoic, old, dead, shriveled up,
dessicated.
They make the decision to put on the gray
sansabelt slacks and wear the square toed shoes with the decorative buckle over the top. They decide to smoke cigarettes in public, they buy a
ranch house way out in the
suburbs and put late-model 4-door sedans in the driveway. They
reproduce so they can prove to
everybody exactly how
grown-up they really are. They stop appreciating things for their
inherent beauty, and begin to evaluate everything only by
monetary value.
Oh, yes, we are all
very impressed. Impressed by your lack of wonder, your ability to dull your senses with
watery beer and two-dimensional conversations about your fast-track
cubicle farmer career. Impressed by your desire to cultivate a love of mother-fucking
golf. Impressed with your death-obsessed, rat-in-a-cage
sports bar life of quiet, pointless desperate
emptiness. Can I be
just like you? Can I vote
republican because some part of me likes seeing
brown people get killed with machines I helped pay for? Can I forget everything that used to make me laugh and feel wonder? Can I pretend to enjoy the taste of
black coffee and the feel of a suit and tie? Can I hang a
successories poster on the wall and
believe what it says? Can I be an integral part of next month's
sales campaign? Can I forsake the wind and sunshine for forty years in
buildings where the windows don't open? Can I chase after an endless succession of shiny, useless baubles? Can I buy into the dream? Can I invest my god damned
401(k)? Can I
refininance?
reinvest?
requalify?
reapply?
resign?
resent?
regurgitate?
Can I, huh? Can I? Can I? Will I? Should I?
FUCK no. No, no no no no no no. I will NOT be that person. I will not kill my
inner child. I will NOT abandon
inherent good in people,
inherent beauty in the world.