Unconfirmed Reports

Something I read last night has stuck fast in my head, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I was reading about Michael “Predator” Carlton, founder of the Sydney Cave Clan, and renowned as a peoples’ computer activist, mad scientist, totally original philanthropist. Predator died of cancer at age 33. Nobody saw that coming. Among his journals from the last part of his life, an admirer quotes:

“… my life, which thank fuck I haven’t pissed up the wall saving for somewhere to live.”

This hits hard. I am, largely, spending my days saving for somewhere to live. So in contrast to Predator, how pissed off would I be if I found out I only had months left to live?

This is an old chestnut of a problem, but one that’s always worth returning to. I remember the first time I was struck with it, sitting at the university bar at age 17. A resident bong-smoker was arguing: “Everyone in our society is trained to spend all their time living for the past and the future. We never live in the present.”

I think I disputed with him, “But sometimes you have to plan things over a period of time… Some things can only be done if you are prepared to wait and build them patiently.”

But I do agree with him that, overall, our society over-emphasises the latter perspective. Deferred gratification - we all see it as sensible, honourable and grown-up to put off what we really want to do until later. Wait until we’re retired. Live a disciplined life. Be a responsible person.

But mortality is a serious challenge to this, and I think few people fully realise this. For one thing, when you are old and retired, have finished paying off somewhere to live, and finally stop giving over the most productive part of your day to whatever pays the bills, you may find that you are no longer able to run, climb, explore. The best and most agile years of your mental development may well be passed.

Secondly, you may never make it to retirement. You never know when the reaper may come knocking.

Maybe you, dear reader, already love what you’re doing every day. Maybe you are not deferring the best years of your life, or “pissing it up against the wall”. But if you find that you are dragging yourself from day to day, floating through a thin continuous dreamlife, then check the links above, or this spanking little essay by Jeanette Winterson, and know that the reaper might have your name just a little further down his list.

And be ready for his visit.