Have we lost the sense of adventure?
I’m currently re-reading “On The Road” for the fourth or fifth time in the last thirty plus years. It is interesting to gauge how my relationship to such works changes over the course of my life. In considering it, I have to differentiate between thinking of its ‘naivete’ or its ‘innocence.’ The former word has a tendency to imply aimlessness while the latter, for me, has a connotation of wonder.
But consider hitch-hiking today. Think about a mad dash across this country, from east to west or west to east. Stealing food from small Mom and Pop general stores or taking on riders to bum enough money for gas. While conceptually the novel still resonates in its passionate yearning for growth and experience, no one today would be able to replicate the actual travels of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty.
Billy and Wyatt from “Easy Rider” were ostensibly outlaws. The movie starts with a drug deal before wandering off in a search for freedom and the American Dream. Most recently, motorcycle clubs were depicted in “Sons of Anarchy”, but their motivations were considerably different. Perhaps the only remnant of the movie that remains today is the bigotry and hatred toward those who are unlike ourselves and follow a different path.
The utter joy and hopefulness of “America” by Simon and Garfunkel is uplifting and completely reflective of the time the song was written.
“Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag”
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies
And walked off to look for America
It seems to me the youth of today is more inclined to look for either a well paying job or a smartphone with the latest and greatest features. Perhaps this “old guy” is just being cynical, but I truly wonder if collectively we have lost our sense of adventure. And by this, I am not referring to the cottage industries established whereby middle aged folks “test their mettle” with whitewater rafting and rock climbing (as I have seen recently in a lawn mower commercial).
I know that, at my age, I am less inclined to reach out and take a chance. Too close to retirement to risk injury or financial collapse. When you knowingly accept the responsibilities of relationships and home ownership, you are not as willing to make too many sacrifices. The sense of loss is far greater.
What does that leave me with? My one avocation: writing. For the past half dozen years, I have focused my attention on historical crime fiction. As I advocate attention to the craft of writing, it is useful to continue in a pattern to make myself better. However, as I wrote in an earlier post, I feel the need to expand within the writing genre. Getting back to playwriting or screenwriting. Getting back to writing poetry.
For over ten years, I have had two works-in-progress that are far different from anything I have written prior. “Weekend Getaways, Or Adventures In Contract Killing” is a transgressive novel that explores a mid-life crisis and the entire self-help and wellness industry. “The Novel Titled, This is Not a Novel” is a metafiction which looks into the relevance of knowing and understanding who the writer is in order to enjoy their works. While I have not worked on them in a while, they remain fixed in my mind. That is because they represent a measure of adventure that I am willing to take.
You see, I am not a famous writer with numerous books on bestsellers lists. I am not nationally known. I would be risking little by continuing work on them and aggressively seeking to publish them. The adventure lies in working outside of my preferred genre, stepping into potentially dark and intriguing places.
I can still look for America in the various media presented before me. Heck, I can even go on a weekend getaway (albeit not one involving contract killing) and see and experience the beauty of my surroundings. As for the rest of the world, they will find their own sense of adventure in their own fashion in their own time.
