Up to a certain point, we spin our lives, trying, taking risks, making mistakes and winning, but then we freeze. We are alive, but we are not doing anything new. We follow our usual program and slowly die in our souls.
Leave the past in the past, life and smart people teach us, but we persist and resist. We go through old photos, cook according to old recipes, navigate the usual routes, accumulate junk, feel touched by the memory and no, no, and suddenly insert the phrase that “once upon a time it was oh-ho!”, Not that now.
The past has a tremendous force of attraction. Memory clears up memories, the bad fades away, the good is fixed, there are always more problems and fuss in the present, the future is frightening, and in general, even a month ago we were all a little younger. You have to be very traumatized to remember your past with pain and hatred.
I love the past. There is a lot of beauty there: a happy childhood, interesting people, delicious wine, greyhound youth, the sharpness of discovery, change, travel, hooliganism, falling in love and endless possibilities.
But I also hate the past. For the fact that accumulating, it gains strength, memories begin to obscure the view, experience, this damn "son of difficult mistakes" begins to impose possible and, unfortunately, quite plausible scenarios and keeps from what is accepted among "adults and accomplished" people call it nonsense.
Until a certain moment, we spin our lives, trying, risking, making mistakes and winning, but with age we are determined by all items and points - career, family, emotional, sexual, our tastes and preferences are formed, and it is as if everything is closed in the house. doors and vents. We are still alive, but the program has already been completed. The system becomes closed, everything has already happened in one way or another, everything is predictable and known in advance, you see people through and through and in order to really be surprised or startled, shocks of Shakespearean proportions are needed.
"Gray in a beard, a devil in a rib" is a well-known program of destruction of life by men who sense the approach of the inevitable. They seem to throw a grenade into their past and present, believing that otherwise they cannot get rid of the tenacious web of conflicts, connections and tears that have wound on their freedom. They do not leave, but just jump into a new life, changing what they consider necessary and possible - the house, appearance, car, woman, having new children and new habits. If men are smart, cunning, cynical and calculating, they succeed and they prolong their youth in the company of a young beauty and in New Balance sneakers. But, if in their striving for renewal they forget to change something else, namely themselves, then the experiment on rejuvenation reaches the next circle and often comes to a dead end.
With all the desire to be “above the fight” on this issue, it is difficult for me to approve of male vandals, although some examples of their fantastic survival and manic desire for freedom at any cost cause mixed feelings of horror and admiration. On the other hand, the sight of other marriages smoldering in ruins, preserved at any cost, is not exciting.
It doesn't matter that the union has reached a dead end, and people no longer give anything, but only take from each other, torment and torment. They still prefer to endure, suffer, but not disperse, so that, God forbid, they do not change anything. It is better to decay in sorrow, but not to violate the boundaries of the once established regime and not to change ourselves. Leave it as it is, don't risk it and try. The past, though painful, is familiar. New is unpredictable and dangerous. And who knows if we have enough strength for it, will the parachute open, will we fly between the clouds or will we crash into a cake?
Man and society are alike. Economist Alexander Auzan speaks of an invisible ceiling that a nation rests against every time it grows. And about the knurled track, into which, even feeling the need for change, we slide off, barely getting out onto a new road. But only new roads lead forward. The old ones can only be walked confidently in a circle.
The new in general is often hard to rub into the usual, painted, planned and lined life. It is troublesome and hectic. Many of us simply don’t get used to it. Someone already from youth gets used to living within a given framework, while the majority loses the ability to change with age. The new frightens, alarms, causes fear, panic, rejection. We begin to grumble, lecture and be clever. We estimate and doubt. We find flaws in everything new, we consider all possible proposals meticulously, from one side, the other, the third, the twenty-third. We notice and are weighed down by things that we did not even pay attention to before.
Yes, not everything new is good by default. Full of senseless and stupid ideas, experimenters and upstarts, under the guise of a "new word" littering the space, but that's not the point. It's about our needs and instinctive responses. So, after passing a couple of filters for obvious stupidity and vulgarity, at the sight of something new and unusual, interest should wake up, not contempt, eyes should open, not a mouth for spitting, curiosity should arise, and not a desire to trample with boots.
Yes, changes are costly. In order to exist in an atmosphere open to new things, you need to take care of yourself and change yourself in moderation. Because this is only in the swamps, eternal peace, order and a TV with three buttons. This is where any news is unsettling, the prospects for change cause panic, and a disruptive newcomer is perceived as an invader, he is dangerous, he is pursued, hounded and removed.
Everyone determines the proportion in the use of old and new experiences for himself. And all this would have remained a purely personal matter if it were not deeply public.
We have a very difficult heredity. The notorious grandmothers on the bench in front of the entrance, one way or another, live in many heads. Of course, there are no rules without exception, but too often we find ourselves overly alert, suspicious and merciless. We are accustomed to condemnation and accustomed to condemnation. We easily find other people's flaws and cling to little things. We criticize mercilessly and destroy with words mercilessly. We all know, we have it written on the shelves that "a woman must" and that "a man must". We operate with cliches and prejudices that we did not even invent ourselves. With the passion of watchmen, we make sure that nothing unusual, incomprehensible and immediate leaks into our life or into our big life without a fight. And in a dispute we are always right, and our opponent is definitely a bastard, and he not only has no forgiveness for his opinion, but in general there is no place on earth!
But the degree of pollution of the atmosphere in which we live depends on how we deal with our sympathies, and most importantly, antipathies. Only we measure the level of energy pollution not with devices and meters, but with our own mood, state and health. As a result, many get hooked on traveling around the world, not only in search of new places and experiences, but also from the desire to escape, at least for a while, from the atmosphere of universal condemnation, suspicion, neglect, superiority and rudeness.
In such conditions, everything new, original and alive has to break through practically the Arctic ice of resistance. Without a powerful influx of new people and fresh ideas, the territory is captured by inertia, decay and inertia. An active society on which a lot depends is starting to age. The ranks of all-knowing men and violent women are getting denser. They are knowledgeable and self-confident. They are so trained that even if they do not know about something at all, they pretend that you feel like a jerk even with your Ph. D. thesis on a given topic. They are the foundation, facade and essence of a society that, like a seriously ill patient, has long been prescribed to take changes three times a day in any form instead of food.
Because old age is not wrinkles, it is ready-made answers to any questions, it is a mine of awareness that has grown into the face, it is the warm comfort of everything familiar and deserved, it is risk reduction and endless whining. Yes, old age should be respected, but you shouldn't bet on it. And, by the way, old age, stabbed with Botox, and it would not be bad to feel the moment itself. Sometimes confusing youthfulness with youth, she cannot stop and first forms a feeding trough, and then, with all her might, squeezes out everything fresh and new from her. And it is not a fact that by the right of talent, more often by the right of strength. To leave beautifully and on time turns out to be much more powerful than feeding one’s enduring egoism with universal attention and recognition, which with age is downright numb in marble. It is no longer youth that is merciless, it is old age that is merciless.
But here age is also an applied category. The fundamental difference is that some take and do: they try, build, compose, write, stage, etc. Others doubt, criticize, resent, express fear, disgust and misunderstanding. Some, maybe, are mistaken, but they move progress, others ride on it. And they also spit in the back, they say, go in the wrong direction, comrades!
This is a reserved category of hypocrites and hypocrites, who first fire up everything new and unusual at every corner, give it no breath or run, and then, when it suddenly breaks through, takes root and gains strength and recognition, as if nothing had happened, they come with a wide smile to bow, they recognize success, begin to use it and worship it. The problem is that in the process of unnatural selection, which these retrogrades themselves are in part caused by, the best does not always survive. Sometimes the strongest, the most impudent and the most penetrating survives. It can be fake, and its life span is short, but the appearance of movement is created and, it seems, both the old people are generous, and the young in business.
But this is all a semblance of change. Like on our TV, faces are draped with botox, like latex, endless songs about the old and the main thing, who no longer know how to re-sing, the feeling of deja vu, which has passed into a chronic stage and an instinctive desire to either erase the mold from the screen, or throw it to hell. television. As if there is an invisible and impenetrable circle, from which it is impossible, and no one wants to get out, a circle that reliably keeps you warm, comfortably familiar, in the past, in molasses, in cotton wool.
Traditions are wonderful, but they are utter horror, if there is only them and there is no desire to leave the house and make a mistake (I. Brodsky). Learn, try, cook, sew, glue, read, see something new! When deviations from the route are fraught with panic, and any "non-standard reading" turns into an insult to the public.
It is impossible and impossible to abandon the old, kind, familiar and familiar. And in general, according to Lotman, culture is memory. OK. But you can't afford to get stuck in your memory. Dig in, like in a dungeon, and be afraid of any draft, which God forbid blows something new. This is not the wind of change, it is, oh horror, a deadly draft!
The old devil in Clive Lewis's book "The Scamper Letters" makes fun of a man who thinks that time belongs to him. Nothing belongs to anyone. It is impossible to fix a thought, moment, idea, freeze in bronze and heal with a monument. The world is accelerating, the information space is oversaturated, ideas dart around, everything is mobile, everything is possible and changes in one minute.
Yes, and in the memory of my generation, we are all so shaken and thrown from side to side that what one could dream of is stability, at least of the exchange rate. At all times, power forces a person to catch balance. Because at all times the strongest, instinctive or conscious human need is to abstract as much as possible from power and live his own life. Or, when it becomes impossible, fight it. The result of this struggle is unpredictable, and for everyone it means something different. But no one ever wants or expects those changes that are for the worse. And when the vulture state strives to take away or change the usual living conditions, those who are able to live tomorrow, whatever it may be, have more chances.
The strength of a modern person is in his resistance to stress. In the ability not only to experience constantly changing circumstances with minimal damage, but in the ability to change yourself, if possible, to change these very circumstances, your life. And just like a prize to the winner - the ability to rejoice at changes, finding signs of life in them. Life. Not death in the swamps. In dust, cobwebs, in old pajamas, with rumbled thoughts and dried cookies in hand.
It is quite possible that all of the above is not a decree for anyone. It is fair, since the very habit of teaching and giving advice, on the one hand, is ineradicable, on the other hand, it only causes rejection. Yet everyone knows what they are happy with. And many are sure that a person cannot be changed. Me too. It seems to me that only he is capable of changing, looking for something new in himself and changing the world around him, who has a need for it. Otherwise, and out of inertia, complexes, anger and envy, you can build another high fence and successfully shoot back because of it. To whom what. After all, freedom, an exclusive internal category.
And everyone defines it for himself.
