The Middle

We are born inquisitive creatures, borne of inquisitive creatures. Yet by the time we reach a semblance of adulthood, say 16 or 17, much of our nature has been eradicated. It is easy to be complicit. One must merely adhere to life’s expectation - get good grades, become a professional, raise a family - and another life has been lived, free of shame, of upset, of inquisition. Another life has been devoted to someone else’s pocket, or some other outcome you will see little of.

This desperation to conform to expectation stems from the middle class. The lower - whilst resenting their position - sees no harm in allowing complicity to enter their lives. They see it as largely out of their hands, and sadly - without radical action - this seems to be the case. The upper, without the pressure to achieve off their own brow, can become enamoured with the pleasures that a hedonistic life provides. The exceptional uppers; those that do not regress to the mean, seem to pursue increasingly esoteric validation amongst their gifted peers. They have a tendency to create fields of pursuit when all others are dry, creating a whirlpool of research that inevitably descends into pointless rhetoric.

It is only the middle, the inevitably, beautifully average middle, that may escape the curse of a pointless life.