Falling Down

You've got to be careful that you don't hit the wall. People are hitting the wall everyday; some choose to carry on, their faces pressed firmly up against the cold brick. For the rest, what happens next is able to take a diverse amalgamation
of forms.

Life tells us what we have to do. We are told that we need to go to school, learn some stuff, and get a job. For generations now, including mine, going to University fits in somewhere in between. It is often suggested that, upon succesful completion of these fundamental life processes, one will be able to feel happy and complete. A mortgage and a family also usually fits in somewhere along the way.

Gauging happiness is completely subjective. Most people gauge happiness with reference to essentialist thought processes; picking one feature that defines the subject matter collectively. In Western culture, this predominantly equates to having money, a good job, a house, a wife, a routine, a nice lawnmower, or a nice car.

However, people who hit the wall, and the small percentage of people who are conscious that they are hitting the wall, tend to have a more complex series of problems at hand. Having a good job, a nice car and a nice lawnmower isn't always enough, particularly for people who think differently to everyone else.

This leads to a desparate search for escape. Hitting the wall therefore, more often than not, leads to running away. Running away from the pressures of how we are told we should live, what we are told we should do, and how we should organise our alotted period of time alive as spiritual beings.

My father's journey consisted of a lot of the above. After a period of financial success working in the City, the pressures associated with working in such a fast-paced environment, twinned with the monetary concern induced by the recession, eventually got to him. A brief period of burnout and alcoholism followed, before an immense realisation that there is no point in wasting time, and spending your days doing something that you quite simply do not want to do.

At least my Dad came to this realisation in a relatively peaceful and transgressive manner however. It could of been a similar display to Michael Douglas' experiences in an LA traffic jam.