When You Are Only Halfway In
From Breakdown to Breakthrough
Wednesday: Write about the ways in which a recent overwhelming breakdown proved to be an undeniable breakthrough
It seems like a long time ago, and perhaps it was, that I cut, without noticing, the umbilical cord which tethered me to polite society. For many years I had suffered from a kind of mental myopia, unable to achieve clarity unless focussing on my immediate surroundings. Group or collective gatherings attracted me, when they did, merely as opportunities to play the part of the efficient social animal I never really was. Having trumped a few punch-lines and kissed plenty of air to demonstrate that I still understood the rules of engagement, I would hurry back to the splendid elsewhere, congratulating myself on a successful performance. The ‘real me’ was free once more to grapple with the fascinating details of something or other I woke up thinking about, and the outside world would dissolve into a satisfying blur. I relished my illusion of detachment like a child who covers his eyes and believes he can no longer be seen.
After a few decades of this sub-cultural merry-go-round, I was uncomfortably aware that my cloak of invisibility had begun to fray at the edges. No-one can evade the friction attending the clumsy exits and entries required of a perpetual tourist. Keen as ever to postpone the event, I was nevertheless conscious that sooner or later a decision would have to be made. When I was in I was in, and when I was out I was out, but if I was only halfway in…
This, then, was my condition on March 16th 2020: The Day The World Shut Down. For a self-centred clam contriving to inhabit a precarious, very personal dreamland, the consequences were predictably disastrous. It was instantly clear that not a single practical aspect of my irregular existence would be sustainable within the extraordinary restrictions of the New Order.
I had been elbowed off my precious, imaginary tightrope to land with a disagreeable thump in a very different, quite unavoidable environment which, as it happened, I thoroughly detested. As if to emphasise that the gods were genuinely angry, I was then struck by a lightning rod of irony: the televised spectacle of our Prime Minster gravely insisting that I, like everyone else, must at all costs avoid “unnecessary social contact”. The reality was, in sharp contrast to my heavily-customised version of normality, the demands of lockdown would compel me to engage with more people every day than I usually would in a month. Indeed, to actually be alone at all became something of a trick.
Circumstances demanded that I launch an alternative philosophical canoe double-quick. My inner-life –that jealously protected territory- was no longer a familiar playground but a desert island viewed from a sinking ship. I felt robbed of the one thing I treasured most — the freedom to be apart.
Despite the increasingly demented attempts of the authorities to police the empty hillsides in the name of ‘public health’ I took to walking, stomping up to the highest points I could reach. A lucky man might find solace waiting in the clouds and if not, well at the least the air was fresh.
These walks became longer and more frequent. My spirit rallied as my legs grew strong. If no great balm descended from the clouds it sure as hell rained often enough to remind me that solace isn’t a treat you can find under a rock or order from Amazon. As weeks turned into months and the entire country teetered on the brink of a collective nervous breakdown, I began to see the funny side of our predicament. When consent falls off the menu, it’s tempting to see control as a saviour’s prerogative. On the other hand, when dissent is your default, it’s tempting to view detachment as an anti-hero’s virtue. Now the government’s entrail-readers and modelling-wizards had made it compulsory, my dream of noble otherness looked a bit more like a smug conceit.
Yet my long-cherished divorce from all things mainstream had, without my knowing, buttressed the pillars of ego and superego that have never failed to keep a roof of optimism over my head. One day a feeling crept in which I immediately recognised: the warm reassurance that spreads when a flame of resolve, be it ever so small, is flickering somewhere inside you.
When clarity finally returned I was, to my surprise, looking down the’ wrong’ end of the telescope. When you are in you are in. Such a colossal effort had been put into amplifying our fears, I had unwittingly tiptoed over the edge of unreason into attachment. This could not, of course, be any more than a brief encounter, but the opportunity was just too good to miss. So I took a very deep breath followed by a very close look at the society which had somehow recaptured me.
I’ll try not to dwell on it because I cannot dwell in it. I found myself confronted by a glittering chaos, an awesome, ornamental confusion of purposes. I was amazed how very insubstantial the huge things seemed. Great holes had been torn in the norms and expectations. Strange imitations of life were being enacted on every corner. I looked into the void that can open at our feet–as we all know- any second of the day. I saw (too clearly) the pop-up carnivals of vacuous, virtual joy offered in hollow compensation for the desperate shortage of care and compassion.
That long-awaited moment of decision had arrived and the answer was no. No, I will not transplant my soul to play this game. I have no desire to join the ranks of the empty-hearted who wander like ghosts among the digital rubble-heaps where moral certainties once stood, towering above us. I indulged the terrible vice of talking aloud to myself: I’m out of this, Jack, and I ain’t coming back.
Quite a lot has happened since then; a thorough, very localised reset that has opened my treasure-chest of hope and pushes me out of bed early into the mornings I enjoy more than ever before. I am still carrying the same heavy backpack of flaws but complacency isn’t in there. There will always be a reason to take another step, even if I am unsure of the direction. For one thing, it’s a lot harder for the slings and arrows to hit a moving target. And as I found out, if you stand still long enough the chances are something big will come along and roll right over you.
