tell me a story

a story, you say?

what could be a better bedtime story than a story about a dream. yea well, here you go--this one's about an american dream. the american dream. a common topic lately--everywhere you turn it's being thrown through the air. all the while, no one seems to remember what the american dream meant, originally. they know what they think it meant, after picking up an old history book.



"...That dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. …a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognised by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position."

~The Epic of America



unfortunately, america is a relatively young country who's never really been forced to grow up. she was given too much as a child with too little discipline, and now she's a spoilt adolescent with no respect for her elders. she can throw a temper tantrum, take her best friend's favourite toy, and convince anyone who questions it that anything on her land must be hers--finder's keepers--if only because this land was always hers to begin with.

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this land is your land, this land is my land...from california to the new york islands. from the redwood forest to the gulfstream waters.......this land was made for you and me!

right. what america really means when she's parading that bouncy little tune, is this land was your land first, and now i've taken over--so, you see, this land is my land. all of it. the forests and water is mine. i can do what i want with it. you don't object or anything, do you? i didn't think so. didn't i mention i saved a spot for you on that corner of land--the reservation. that's right. i reserved this land for you. aren't i kind? anyway, this land was made for me. it's perfect! this land is my land!

--

ah yes, sweet america. she's just old enough to have forgotten where she came from, and where she should be going. freedom. everyone gets freedom in america, yes? essential freedoms at the very least--

life (at least, as long as your peers agree)

liberty (or...the liberty to give up your freedom. throwing it to the wind--that wind, by the way, is usually the government. and the government, if you've forgotten, are also americans.)

and the persuit of happiness. (this is important, you understand. perhaps america's most honest statement of all time. the persuit of happiness. she never tells us 'ah, stick around. you'll find happiness here.' for all the promises she breaks...she doesn't even bother with making the promise of happiness. good to know.)

the american dream, though, does promise happiness. find an aspiration, do the work, keep doing the work...live happily ever after. the 'american dream', as it was, doesn't exist anymore. it can't. it's changed--as everything does over time.

alright. i'll quit stalling. you wanted a story. here's the dream. here's the story. our story...



once upon a time (thought i'd give you a proper opening. anyway...)--once upon a time, there was a child. he'd come into this world like everyone else: small, helpless, and impressionable. in other words (yes, you have it right), he just so happened to be born as a child. imagine that. of all the injustices in the world, God had to start him off just like everyone else.

the child pulled himself up, most likely out of boredom on that cold and rainy afternoon, and learned to walk. people cooed and found some kind of odd enjoyment in watching him stumble around the place--reaching for nearby tables and chairs, keeping himself off of the floor until he reached the other side of the room. They'd ask him ridiculous questions: 'aren't you a handsome young man? look! he's trying to wear john's hat--he wants to be like his daddy. don't you want to be just like your daddy?' n.b. this was, of course, before the boy could talk.

by the time he could talk, he'd figured all of this out. he was supposed to do what everyone else did. he was supposed to follow the grown-ups. the big kids. society. if he wanted to survive, he had to live the way he was taught to survive. this meant he had to walk down the same twisted paths the people before him had decided to walk down. curious as he was, he learned to obey the signs--'don't walk', 'do not leave the path', 'detour'.

now...he got older and people asked slightly more sensible questions:
'what do you want to be when you grow up, love?'

knowing the difference between 'do you want to grow up to be like us?' and 'you're going to grow up to be like us, so what are you going to do when this happens?', the boy had become accustomed to the question and knew precisely the answer to prepare. it had to be what They wanted to hear, so he'd get the praise he so desperately wanted. the same praise They so deperately wanted to give. he had to use the large words They used, even if he didn't understand what it all meant yet--he knew he'd learn someday. after much revision and reacting to the responses he'd received, his answer became something like this:

i'd like to be an accountant--maybe work for a bank, or the IRS. work 25 hour days, 8 day weeks, and come home everyday...scratch that...come home most nights to a wife, 2.5 kids, and a hot meal. nothing too jazzy--just a white picket fence, two story house in a nice neighbourhood, and a luxury car. maybe a Lexus. Yes sir. This sounds to be what i'd like.'

as you'd imagine, much applause came from this. he was thought to be such an intelligent, ambitious, little boy. this was a child who'd be someone, someday. why couldn't all children be as good, and motivated, and well rounded as this one?

while his answer was concocted only to please the masses, he grew to understand what these big words and aspirations meant. he also grew to understand that They actually expected these things to be achieved. so this answer became the standard response. he grew a little older, the question changed forms again: 'what are you going to college for?' and eventually, once he finally reached 17, 'what are you going to do after college?' these are really all the same question to Them. They anticipated the same answer every time, and he gave Them the same answer. every time. he gave Them the answer he'd established...a vision of their success.

the concrete jungle gods said 'let there be conformity!'
and the boy conformed.
and They saw it was good.

by the time he reached 18, he'd given the same answer so many times, and for so long, even he forgot what was actually important to him...or was anything ever really important to him? who can remember--no matter now. their question became his question, and his answer became the center for his aspiration.

the boy, now a young man, scampered off to an ivy league school. earned a bachelor's--a double major in accounting and business, then went on to a fine graduate program while working with a bank through an internship. a few years later, he went international...started traveling as an economic advisor to large corporations. he'd fallen in love (or thought he did, anyway), married, had one child--a boy--and had another on the way. his work kept him from home, but no worries. his wife was so understanding, so loving, that she said she'd stay at home as a housewife and mother. she said she'd take care of things there, and always be waiting for him to come home. always be waiting. this brings us to the present.

and he doesn't know what he's missing.

the children are, obviously, older--in school now. and his wife has gone back to work. she wanted to make a difference too--working 22 hours a day and six days a week (that's all she can afford to work, understand. she has to be back home for the kids sometime.) alright, maybe that's a little exaggeration.

maybe.

the kids grew up in a nice house. the couple could afford anything they wanted from the market shelves. you would think of them as 'successful'. he had his job, his wife, his white picket fence, hot meals, and his Lexus. the only part where he was off, was the half of a child--they only had two children, but i hardly think we'll hold him to that bit.

the end.

--

tell me. how'd you like the story? you still awake?...oh, good. thought i'd lost you. ok, so...you did like it, then. what's that? no ending, hm. wasn't there? ok, how's this:



...he kept working, and she kept working. they both paid taxes, like good little citizens. this all continued somewhat smoothly (hey, it's life.) until retirement. at which time they dipped into social security, welfare, and collected pension. they did this until they died.

the end.

--

how's that? hm. no...there's something missing.

we're all doing this. on a macro-level, we're all doing just this. we're letting america educate herself and work herself to death. and not just america. all the countries and all the people of our culture. on a micro-level, we do the same thing: let ourselves find education, then work ourselves to death. why? for success. because success loves misery.

wait. no. i have that one wrong. misery loves company...either way. success is too often measured in terms of money. you get money from a company. ok, and surely if they've been a couple for this long, misery and company won't split up now--and company has learned to love misery. so, if the key to success is a company, then the two can be equated (use your imagination) because one is necessary to the survival of the other. and, stick with me here...the statement 'misery loves company' is transitive to 'company loves misery'. we can replace 'company' in that phrase with 'success' and the phrase that comes forth is then...you've got it. success loves misery. voila!
QED.

ok. where were we?

right. something's missing. (for thought provoking suspense, i'll leave that one as a thread floating on a light breeze...)

so you don't think this is what's happening, or that it isn't always happening this way. fine...maybe i'm skeptical. or perhaps i'm an idealist for thinking something else might have been possible once--for dreaming of something better than running on a treadmill, five speeds higher than i've ever had to run before..all because They say it's what i was built for. made for.

this land was made for you and me.
(somehow, our culture forgot that we didn't make that land.)

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never forget