I am friends with three guys who are now about the age at which point my father decided that his life was over. At the time I thought, well, yes, I understand it, I get it, you were getting old. Die young, stay pretty, right?
But now I look at these three guys and I cannot but conclude:
These guys are so fucking YOUNG.
They are starting new projects, they have big goals, they are studying stuff, learning new things, are eager to figure things out, want to apply what they have learned. In a way these guys are PEAKING.
And that’s confronting.
If my dad could somehow have been lifted out of his depressing circumstances, who knows what might have happened? He might have gone on to study psychology, to write a book, to open up a Vinyl record store in Bratislava or London or Liverpool or Dublin, I don’t know, he might have gone back to bodybuilding, he might have opened a sixties style hippie bar called San Francisco. He might have started a hilariously hysterical YouTube channel more popular than Pew Die Pie (nothing will keep you posted about the latest media trends than teaching teenagers)
But somehow he was done. He was just done.
But what caused his undoing?
Why was he done at 53, when others – who are sort of equally intelligent, and physically a lot less strong – go on to launch businesses, tackle daunting projects and live with almost the same energy as I have now at 33?
What exactly did that? 35 years in a factory, 40 hours a week, 46 weeks a year? Is that it? But why did he stay there?
He had at least the equivalent of my cerebral capacity if not more, he was at least ten centimeter taller than me and truly imposing, his biceps was twice or even three times the size of mine, and according to my mum he was hung like a great Dane.
He never ran into any debt, had no addictions, was faithful to my mum and not for lack of opportunity, was a skilled gardener, driver, writer, bodybuilder, a connaisseur in sixties music, read three newspapers a day, spoke 4 languages, loved movies, could draw beautifully, had a clear grasp of the history of the world, knew about politics and psychology and yet somehow did not know what to do with any of that in practical terms. And he didn’t even seem to know how to look for those kind of opportunities. Also: he was easily the funniest guy I have ever met and I meet a lot of funny people.
Why does someone like that kill himself at 53?
Ow well, the part of him that made him dance on deserted highways at the crack of dawn (see picture) is marching on.