Hot Topic: Getting It Together

Yesterday I met a man who sold car detailing products, which doesn't sound exciting, but this man might be the single most interesting person I've ever met. With a dirty towel stuffed in his pocket and a blue spray bottle in his hand, he regaled tales of his childhood. Born into the extreme wealth of an Afghan politician, his family suddenly found themselves in the midst of war. His father ended up raising his children in a Pakistani refugee camp, and when granted asylum in England, the former politician took up a job as a taxi driver. His son went on to graduate with degrees in psychology, biomedical engineering and physics. Subsequently, he went on to build a very successful company in the UAE, but when he lost everything and had a stroke, he decided to do something where money wasn't an integral factor, but simply an added bonus. In his words, he wanted to do something noble. And I didn't understand that at first, because he was this well-educated man with a wife and two children, selling car products to people in gas stations. But when I had time to mull over his words, I realized that nobility is so much more than just prestige; it's being an honest and happy man. 

Let's get to it:

The timeline of my life began the moment I was enrolled in Pre-K. I was supposed to go to school, study at university, immediately work at a reputable company, somehow meet the love of my life, get married, have children, take care of them, retire, and die. I didn't know anyone who went to my school who had a different timeline. We were all the products of the archetypal Asian middle-upper class, and none of us were expected to do anything more. We were prospective businessmen and businesswomen, entrepreneurs and start-up superstars, doctors and lawyers, media moguls and engineers. Most flew away to be college-educated in the States, Europe or Australia only to come back to their nest so they could warm the eggs their parents had laid for them. Sometimes we would hear a friend of a friend who stayed in New York, Sydney or London because they refused to come back to Jakarta. But they were few and far between. 

My friends weren't encouraged to pursue happiness because it's often believed that happiness is a byproduct of success. Those who didn't know what they wanted to major in university ended up choosing commerce or finance; something lucrative that would make their parents happy. The more artsy fartsy ones had to convince their parents that design, photography or fine arts could very well be a viable career option. Soon we all found ourselves in another country, with daddy's money and the expectation that in four years time we would be heading straight back to the city that bore us. 

Our timeline is tightly packed, with little to no room for a six-month backpacking trip around Europe. Our journey of self-discovery need not a block of time on its own, but is merely a pet project. So while my Australian friends took a semester off to go to Argentina or bookended their graduate studies backpacking around East Asia, my Asian friends were too busy trying to find a stable job with a good starting salary. 

Happiness, I learned, mean very different things in different cultures. Someone here told me that happiness is about being content. Happiness is loving the low-paying job because it keeps them off the streets and the coworkers are a hoot. Happiness is living in the present. Happiness is effortless bliss. While where I'm from, or perhaps in the very small bubble of my society, happiness is stability. Happiness is having a savings account that touches our unborn great grandchildren. Happiness is having a name card that shows where you are in the hierarchy. Happiness is only the second most important thing in life. So while other people are striving for happiness and tranquility in their lives, my friends and I are trying our hardest to be a respectable adult, even if it's not our time. 

Perhaps floundering is okay. Maybe a thirty-something year-old with three degrees selling car detailing products isn't something to be ashamed of. Maybe being a garbage truck driver earning $34.50 an hour isn't so bad. Maybe the aim of living isn't about always having it together, because none of us know why we're even here. Our life—our existence right here—shouldn't be based on the zeros in our bank account or how often we make it on Forbes. 

What if we're supposed to meander? What if we're supposed to fail, and try, and take up shitty jobs and meet amazing people while busking in front of the Sagrada Familia? What if the stability of life is the least exciting way to experience the world? We've learned to follow a schedule since the first grade; from waking up to going home. The only thing we have that is bereft of a timetable is, well, life itself. And yet we subject ourselves to one anyway. Sure, we need to follow a certain plan, but it's our fear of hitting rock bottom that might hinder us from going sky high. We leave no room to seek adventures in the form of mistakes. We are so afraid of doing something that is a part of life, because we believe it shouldn't be.

I have met so many people during my time here that are so much more than their job description, but I'm afraid that that's all I will ever be. I have shared a picnic blanket with an unemployed former drug addict with a civil engineering degree. I've sat down with a British man who dropped everything to move to Australia to help underprivileged children in third world countries. I've spilled my soul to a homeopath who welcomed me with outstretched arms into her home. 

There is so much more to life than having it together. So much more to happiness than making our parents proud and getting married before thirty. The most interesting people I've encountered aren't the ones who have accomplished many things in their lives, but the ones who haven't. Because they're the ones with stories to tell and a much more profound understanding of how the world works. 

"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a ride!" -Hunter S. Thompson