The high life

Walter was a carefree, easygoing kind of guy. He always had a joke ready and mischievous twinkle in his eye. So it was with some surprise I found him in his basement one night, somber and morose. I asked him what was the matter.

"We've been lied to," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" I said slowly.

"Everyone we've ever known has lied to us our whole lives. Think about it. Since we were children we've been fed the myth that our whole lives lie open to us and anything is possible if we reach out and grab like an apple from a tree. We've got a generation full of people with inflated self-importance who have been coddled by assurances their whole lives."

"Well, that's not really a lie," I began. "If you really want something and work hard towards it.."

"But that's just it!" he burst out excitedly. "Most of us have no conception of what hard work even is. When we weren't getting told how wonderful we are, we were getting handed most anything we wanted. Hard work has become a high minded ethereal idea, not something that intrudes into daily life. We have no concept of hard work."

"That's not true," I protested. "A lot of people work really hard to get what they want."

"Yeah, but they're not really struggling," he countered. "Even those who genuinely make an effort always know they have mommy and daddy to fall back on if things get too rough. It's the biggest lie we've ever been fed, a hoax perpetuated everywhere and by everyone. We get thrown out into the real and suddenly we can't understand why everything isn't just about us and doesn't exist just to prop us up. We get disillusioned by the lies we've been told. Some of us never see through it at all. But I'm tired of it."

"But.." I begin, but can't think of anything to say. I clearly look distressed, as Walter then smiles wanly at me and says

"Never mind me, kiddo. I'm having a rough day. I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that. I think I just need some fresh air."

He got up, put on his jacket and was out the door. I hung around a few minutes before also leaving.

He called me about a week later. He had checked himself into the sanitarium. He had "needed a rest for awhile." He was there for almost a month, and although I made a few plans to go and visit I kept making excuses so I didn't have to go. The prospect made me uneasy.

Walter finally got out, but he wasn't the same guy anymore. He wasn't ranting anymore, but it was like the life had gone out of him. He was more drab seeming and subdued. I don't really know what spurred him on to talk like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he probably had a point. You can't raise a generation to expect success but train them for failure. Maybe we would all go a little crazy if we let ourselves think about where our lives had gone and what we had become.