Death by Paradox

Just like many of you must be thinking, I did too. Why such a morbid start? A couple of days back I had a vivid dream that troubled me into introspection and finally, into writing this piece. It went like - In the early light of dawn a mother and her toddler stroll down the street towards the garden - happy faces looking for fresh flowers. Behind them, follows a giant black cobra, sticking out its tongue. The curtain falls and the air gets thicker as a macabre scene is set to greet. The snake wrapped around the mother's corpse with the child nowhere to be seen. 

It's a widely acclaimed belief that dreams are influenced by thoughts, both conscious and subconscious. While I have absolute conviction and can vouch for zero morbidity consciously (my past time ventures include watching the theatrics of a Jordan Schlansky from the Conan show and likewise), unwrapping the subconscious is a different ball game. There might be a hint if I account for the effects of some of the current and recent past events - quarantine for months, mortality rates shooting, racial violence on the rise and a cat 4 cyclone- but to do it proper justice I needed to dig deep. Something we call in science and engineering, the root cause analysis.

Whenever we muse over the good old simpler days what makes us think of them in the first place? The lack of complexity? The less we had to worry about? The argument here would be the lesser number of decisions to make stemming from the limited number of choices present. The counterargument: We want more control and thus more choices. Alas! We've been hit by a Paradox!

In the opening monologue from Trainspotting (Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a f*** big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers...), Mark Renton exhibits his frustration with the number of choices in a postmodern capitalistic society that presumably delineates the perception of a perfect life. You can almost taste the flavour of a Schopenhauerian pessimism bubbling as he dissolves his lack of need to not have a reason for loathing choices with a spoon, needle, lighter and some white magic. Now, this was just the 1990's. Fast forward and account for the increase in the number of choices that presupposes life in 2020. Overwhelming?

Evolution through natural selection or otherwise might speak differently though. It explored every possible choice available and where there wasn't, it willed one to existence - fishes growing legs to walk on land and theropods downsizing and growing wings to be eligible to fly. Likewise, homo sapiens conjured up Spotify when the need arose to ditch carrying a thousand songs in their pockets. Our progress as a species is distinguished by living up to the aphorism of men being the masters of their fates through the intervention of choices. We aren't playing Russian roulette. We've already counted the number of times the barrel has spun and are ready to pull the trigger.

 Our choices make us who we are, what we stand for and to a larger extent elucidates why we do the things we do. They somewhat indicate to whatever is going on inside the three-pound lump we got locked up in our heads. If I were a Kung-fu fan prior to the early 2000s, I would tune in to Kung-fu nights with HBO or any other channel that would show them on a particular time of the week. On other days I would simply watch something else. The most I could do to exert control over my entertainment is create a choice by driving to the nearest rental hoping they stack an entire rack full of kung-fu. 20 years later I can gawk up all the martial arts I want, whenever I want, with a few touches and stable internet. I might seldom diverge from my course and try something new but I'll always look out for kick here or a punch there. With an ever-increasing number of choices, I'm becoming more and more potent in defining myself, streamlining my needs and wants, getting closer to the point where I know exactly what is, and what will be. 

 But here's the catch. While I've been running to reach the state of fulfilment, I just might overlook that it's a thin line I'm running on. That there's always the possibility that I might slip and fall from what I think to be true to what is true. On a more concerning note, what I think to be right as against what might be right. On my pursuit of self-actualization, I just might be deluded into an Echo Chamber, where my choices reverberate and reinforce my beliefs. I'm losing control, being shackled by the very choices which once seemed to give me the key. 

 There's a little sparrow which just landed on my window sill. I think I'll take a break here and watch what it does. Please allow me to draw the curtains with the help of Dear Mr Shakespeare.

"These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume."