Memoirs. Now they’re an interesting discussion piece.
When you look in a bookshop at the auto-biography section you can almost guarantee that the books will fall into certain categories. Those written by famous people, who have often done something incredible in their lifetimes, those written by celebrity’s, who may or may not have done anything incredible in their lifetimes but who are aware their books will by bought by millions who want to be like them, those written by those who have endured hardships ranging from being held hostage to being raised in a poverty stricken environment, sportsmen who have broken physical records, politicians who feel they have made some impact on modern life and hangers-on i.e. those people whose memoirs sell because they know someone in one of the above categories.
I only mention memoirs because I wonder if this book is perhaps such a thing. However, I am not famous, a celebrity, have not endured any hardships most people would merit as being worthy of disclosing in a book, I am not a sportswoman, politician or have anyone to hang on to. I am what most would call ordinary.
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So then, my question is, why are most memoirs only written by the rich or the poor, the famous or the hard done to, rarely, if ever, the ordinary.
People do not want to read about mundanity. Yet is what we refer to as ‘ordinary’ necessarily mundane?
Or is ordinary life full of bizarre occurrences which we have simply become blind to, oblivious of. People want to be thrilled by sex, daring, excitement, money and the secrets of people in the public eye. Yet people’s lives aren’t that dissimilar. If two people eat in the same restaurant or indulge in a threesome, what makes one of the people doing it more interesting that the other? Because we claim to know them in some way because we’ve seen their picture in the paper or listened to their music. Don’t you see how silly that sounds? Because believe me ordinary people get up to all sorts of things we’d be stunned by if we could be bothered to look. Why don’t we want to read about how people we perceive as similar to ourselves have overcome their oppressors. Wouldn’t this be a powerful read? Yes, maybe they are not a quiz show host or a singer by numbers of musical drivel but that might just make them all the more intriguing.
I’ll tell you another reason why. Publishers don’t want to know. The ordinary person isn’t exciting, isn’t profitable. Funny, we’re coming back to choice again.
Are we free to choose or only free to choose between the options provided for us?
Perceived freedom of choice is a magical thing. For those in control, governments, media, well, I’ll let you carry on the list, it is vital to create an arena where you view yourself as having a world of choice, so many opportunities. Why then are most people fed up with their lives? If there is so much available to us, why do most of today’s western adults sit in an office or shop for example, only to come home and watch 221
the tv for hours before going to bed? What happened to the opportunities, the freedom to live our lives however we choose? Is this what we choose for ourselves? Can it really be true? With the world and all the technology man has created, is this what the person with complete freedom of choice does?
Human. The ‘superior being’ apparently. Capable of abstract thought. Is this really all we can manage or can we just not handle opening our eyes. Or do we live in an outdated model of the world, where society refuses to change, refuses to acknowledge that there is so much more that can be achieved, not necessarily on a global level but certainly on an individual level which in turn will affect the way the world evolves. I wish I had the answers. I don’t. However, I do not feel that ignorance is bliss and I do feel that wasting talents and desires is wrong. Yes, I agree, some do not have the opportunities to discover their desired way of life but others simply mustn’t be aware of it because you will never convince me that people in a shitty routine they call life are truly happy. People who say, this is my lot, it’s not great but what more can I ask for? People whose misery is written across their face as they serve you a burger or rant because they’ve missed their favourite soap opera really cant be enjoying all life has to offer. These people aren’t happy, they just see no other way available to them because they have been told by those in control that there is no other way but this information has been so well assimilated they believe their way of life is their own choice.
I want to talk about negativity too and it sort of has a link with the above. A rare thing so far in this book but as thought patterns often jump about like frogs in a jar sometimes too they follow a logical pattern. I have found that the people who are most negative in 222
life are those who are unhappy with themselves. The negativity I have encountered most can be summarized in the two following statements; 1. My life is ideal. I do not see any need for improvement. The fact that you behave differently or hold alternative views insults the way I choose to live.
2. My life is far from perfect. I do not change because I am afraid of the unknown and value the security I have now. You upset me by showing me there are other ways to look at things because I don’t want to see.
Often the two statements are utilized together, the first being how people justify the negativity, the second rising from the depths of themselves (this second statement is soon pushed back down again).
Ok, so you’re not too sure on this one. I’m not stating given truths here, just what I believe to be the case.
I’ll give you some examples.
A thirty three year old man I know has thrived to be an acknowledged artist for many years. He is a talented painter, photographer, musician and a genuinely astonishing man. He has had his fair share of shitty jobs trying to make ends meet. One day, an art gallery approaches him, tells him they have never seen work like his and that they must put it in an exhibition. By the way, could he write the music for it as well and does he have any work ready for exhibit that they can use in the main gallery window? Wow.
Fucking incredible. Understandably excited he rings his mother. That’s nice she says but listen to her news, she’s just sold a coat she bought from Help the Aged for £5 for £7.50 on an internet auction site. The son listened whilst his mother enthused about herself with no further word about the exhibition, not one mention of it, until the call ended twenty minutes later.
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I once told my father I didn’t believe in god. He stopped speaking to me for a while because I had insulted him personally. I had, without knowing it, dismissed his life as pointless and couldn’t have said anything worse. Was I supposed to lie and go to church? The sad answer is yes, that is exactly what was expected from me. Well actually, the renewed faith would have been the ideal but it would be a start.
It didn’t happen and as far as I am aware my father still carries this insult to his entire being with him. He doesn’t show it as much now though.
I still hear the echoes of the voices I heard before I left. When a few select people got wind of the fact I was actually leaving. When they knew I really meant it. It wasn’t just another of my daft, ill-considered, impulsive ideas of which they had grown so used to. I was going to go through with it. Why does the phrase
‘just to spite them’ come to mind because I didn’t think it but I believe some of them did. How dare I leave? How could I be disillusioned with my way of life? Didn’t they share that way of life. Was I criticizing them? Was I?