0
Existentialism. Unique and Alone.
Posted by Tanya
on
1:15 AM
Existentialism is a philosophy that accentuates the uniqueness of the human experience. The existential philosophy posits the idea that no two people have the same experiences; no two humans are the same. The main concern of this philosophy is to understand how every person finds their identity through free will and personal choice. Just as no two people have the same fingerprints, no two people have the same life experience. To some, this might seem like we live in a lonely and isolated world, disconnected by our personal experience and alienated from others. However, I think that although every person has a unique story to tell, it is in this story telling that we find some commonality. That is why I love observing people on the streets or even in the halls of the college because I enjoy trying to understand a little bit about their experience. I observe their clothing, the way they walk, who the person is with, their body language, even the amount of eye contact they have with me as they walk by. All of these things give me a glimpse into their lives and tell me something about their story.
There is a restaurant in Crystal Lake that I sit at for hours watching the people who come in and out. The restaurant itself has a personality that is unlike anywhere else. The curtains that line the booths are blue on one side and red on the other with gold posts keeping them standing. The booths all have striped upholstery with a single dangling light fixture hanging over, to give each table a nice, warm glow. Each booth is just a little different from the next. The buffet is always exactly the same, not one item ever moves from its designated spot marked with a little ceramic tag. One of the many things I love about the restaurant is the music from the 1940s. I know exactly what to expect when I walk in every Monday and Wednesday. I will hear some of my favorite songs like, Ella Fitzgerald's Someone to Watch Over Me and Billie Holiday's God Bless the Child.
I know to expect the regulars sitting at the exact same tables, as well as the managers walking around, talking and handing out fresh garlic breadsticks, even if they see you are already having dessert. I am convinced the two managers are brothers. They both wear simple white button down shirts with ties that I imagine their kids gave them as Christmas presents. They are both jolly and round and they are always ready to strike up a conversation with you, whether it be about his morning of snow blowing, or about the often lethargic look on my face.
After taking residence in my usual booth across from the ICEE machine, I grab a cup of black coffee and scan the perimeter of the room. My nose is half stuck in my mug, inhaling the gritty, yet smooth scent of pure energy. I know that without my coffee, the impending migraine is bound to set it. As I am basking in the goodness of my mug full of liquid life, I see all of the regulars. There's the elderly woman reading a novel in her corner booth--always a new one each time I see her, and then there's the young boy who always comes in with his dad. The little boy has a mischievous grin on his face and I look down to see him stirring and swirling a strange blue-gray concoction inside a clear plastic cup. i watch as the colors separate only to realize he mixed two flavors of ICEEs. My next thought falls into my cup of coffee and splashes me in the face; I wish I were young enough to mix ICEEs. Instead, I sip my gown-up drink and sit back.
I love the restaurant because of the wonderful 1940s music that is always playing, along with the clientele who are mostly elderly. I imagine that is why they play the unusual music. The elderly couples who come in for lunch are always so nice, and they are always willing to share some of their stories with whoever will listen. I can tell by their enthusiasm that they are happy to have the opportunity to share their wisdom with their younger counterparts. All of the older folks who are regulars at the restaurant seem unburdened somehow. Despite their obvious physical ailments, some walk with canes, others with walkers, I can't help but sense that they have let go of their worries. They live completely in the present--not putting much thought into the future and only visiting the past to share their stories.
I had an excruciatingly long day, so I go straight for the dessert bar. I go all out by layering swirled vanilla and chocolate ice cream on top of the massive double chocolate brownie that has been daunting me since I walked into the restaurant. I finish off the decadent masterpiece by sprinkling some happy looking rainbow sprinkles on my snow-covered mountain. As I walk back, the clicking sound my own three-inch heels are making annoys me. Because I am so distracted, I nearly run into the nice elderly man who always walks over to my table to share stories with me, we both try sidestepping each other, both of us moving in the same direction. He looks up, smiles, and says, "Shall we dance?" We laugh and walk back to our tables.
I am quietly digging into my sugar coma-inducing sundae, listening to the elderly man who is telling a middle-aged couple and their two children a story about his past career. The man explains that he used to be a chemical engineer who worked on confidential, or as the man put it, top-secret projects. He told the couple about the company that he worked for and how they had a policy about what happened when he got sick. If one of the employees of the company got sick, they were not allowed to see their personal physicians. They were legally bound to only go to one of the doctors on staff. The couple shrugs in disbelief and the man responds by laughing and saying, "Hey, whatever, I'm still here and still going strong".
As he sits back down to his lunch, he dismantles two napkins to make little place mats for him and his wife then gets her another mug of tea. I imagine what he and his wife looked like when they were my age. And although I understand that their lives are so different from mine, I see something in their faces that makes me connect with them. Sometimes i think that we are all here at the restaurant talking, watching each other to alleviate the loneliness. Although existentialists argue that we are all alone, it seems like humans are constantly seeking companionship and community.
I have read Gilgamesh over and over. It is a story that was written a thousand years before the Illiad, on eleven clay tablets. It is one of the first recorded stories, and even here, one of the central themes of the story is the idea that human beings desperately search for a way to ease the loneliness. Enkidu, one of the two main characters in the story says, "Deep in his heart he felt something stir, a longing he had never known before, the longing for a true friend". Gilgamesh, the other main character, explains that he is looking for his double, his second self.
The existentialists may have it right; we may be trapped in our loneliness. But as I sit in this restaurant, I can't help but think that it may not be loneliness I fell, but instead solitude. We could all be looking for our double in an attempt to find someone else to bring into our isolated lives. As I sit in this restaurant watching everyone move around and share their stories, I can't help but feel connected to them in some way, because we are all searching for something or someone. So human beings may all indeed be alone. But on this day, in this restaurant, all of these people have found a common bond with each other that is absolutely undeniable. What is most special to me about this bond is the fact that it spans across multiple generations. Because I feel like such an old soul, I have come to appreciate and truly cherish the old knowledge and wisdom of the past generations whose experiences shaped the woman I am today.
There is a restaurant in Crystal Lake that I sit at for hours watching the people who come in and out. The restaurant itself has a personality that is unlike anywhere else. The curtains that line the booths are blue on one side and red on the other with gold posts keeping them standing. The booths all have striped upholstery with a single dangling light fixture hanging over, to give each table a nice, warm glow. Each booth is just a little different from the next. The buffet is always exactly the same, not one item ever moves from its designated spot marked with a little ceramic tag. One of the many things I love about the restaurant is the music from the 1940s. I know exactly what to expect when I walk in every Monday and Wednesday. I will hear some of my favorite songs like, Ella Fitzgerald's Someone to Watch Over Me and Billie Holiday's God Bless the Child.
I know to expect the regulars sitting at the exact same tables, as well as the managers walking around, talking and handing out fresh garlic breadsticks, even if they see you are already having dessert. I am convinced the two managers are brothers. They both wear simple white button down shirts with ties that I imagine their kids gave them as Christmas presents. They are both jolly and round and they are always ready to strike up a conversation with you, whether it be about his morning of snow blowing, or about the often lethargic look on my face.
After taking residence in my usual booth across from the ICEE machine, I grab a cup of black coffee and scan the perimeter of the room. My nose is half stuck in my mug, inhaling the gritty, yet smooth scent of pure energy. I know that without my coffee, the impending migraine is bound to set it. As I am basking in the goodness of my mug full of liquid life, I see all of the regulars. There's the elderly woman reading a novel in her corner booth--always a new one each time I see her, and then there's the young boy who always comes in with his dad. The little boy has a mischievous grin on his face and I look down to see him stirring and swirling a strange blue-gray concoction inside a clear plastic cup. i watch as the colors separate only to realize he mixed two flavors of ICEEs. My next thought falls into my cup of coffee and splashes me in the face; I wish I were young enough to mix ICEEs. Instead, I sip my gown-up drink and sit back.
I love the restaurant because of the wonderful 1940s music that is always playing, along with the clientele who are mostly elderly. I imagine that is why they play the unusual music. The elderly couples who come in for lunch are always so nice, and they are always willing to share some of their stories with whoever will listen. I can tell by their enthusiasm that they are happy to have the opportunity to share their wisdom with their younger counterparts. All of the older folks who are regulars at the restaurant seem unburdened somehow. Despite their obvious physical ailments, some walk with canes, others with walkers, I can't help but sense that they have let go of their worries. They live completely in the present--not putting much thought into the future and only visiting the past to share their stories.
I had an excruciatingly long day, so I go straight for the dessert bar. I go all out by layering swirled vanilla and chocolate ice cream on top of the massive double chocolate brownie that has been daunting me since I walked into the restaurant. I finish off the decadent masterpiece by sprinkling some happy looking rainbow sprinkles on my snow-covered mountain. As I walk back, the clicking sound my own three-inch heels are making annoys me. Because I am so distracted, I nearly run into the nice elderly man who always walks over to my table to share stories with me, we both try sidestepping each other, both of us moving in the same direction. He looks up, smiles, and says, "Shall we dance?" We laugh and walk back to our tables.
I am quietly digging into my sugar coma-inducing sundae, listening to the elderly man who is telling a middle-aged couple and their two children a story about his past career. The man explains that he used to be a chemical engineer who worked on confidential, or as the man put it, top-secret projects. He told the couple about the company that he worked for and how they had a policy about what happened when he got sick. If one of the employees of the company got sick, they were not allowed to see their personal physicians. They were legally bound to only go to one of the doctors on staff. The couple shrugs in disbelief and the man responds by laughing and saying, "Hey, whatever, I'm still here and still going strong".
As he sits back down to his lunch, he dismantles two napkins to make little place mats for him and his wife then gets her another mug of tea. I imagine what he and his wife looked like when they were my age. And although I understand that their lives are so different from mine, I see something in their faces that makes me connect with them. Sometimes i think that we are all here at the restaurant talking, watching each other to alleviate the loneliness. Although existentialists argue that we are all alone, it seems like humans are constantly seeking companionship and community.
I have read Gilgamesh over and over. It is a story that was written a thousand years before the Illiad, on eleven clay tablets. It is one of the first recorded stories, and even here, one of the central themes of the story is the idea that human beings desperately search for a way to ease the loneliness. Enkidu, one of the two main characters in the story says, "Deep in his heart he felt something stir, a longing he had never known before, the longing for a true friend". Gilgamesh, the other main character, explains that he is looking for his double, his second self.
The existentialists may have it right; we may be trapped in our loneliness. But as I sit in this restaurant, I can't help but think that it may not be loneliness I fell, but instead solitude. We could all be looking for our double in an attempt to find someone else to bring into our isolated lives. As I sit in this restaurant watching everyone move around and share their stories, I can't help but feel connected to them in some way, because we are all searching for something or someone. So human beings may all indeed be alone. But on this day, in this restaurant, all of these people have found a common bond with each other that is absolutely undeniable. What is most special to me about this bond is the fact that it spans across multiple generations. Because I feel like such an old soul, I have come to appreciate and truly cherish the old knowledge and wisdom of the past generations whose experiences shaped the woman I am today.
Post a Comment