Funeral for a Friend

A friend died yesterday. I call her a friend though I admit she hasn’t been a part of my life for the past 30 years. But I’d known her since I was a little kid, along with her brother, who ended up being one of my oldest, best friends. I went to her wedding and partied with her in the 80’s. She was older, so me and her brother learned some of the basics of partying and a lot of rock and roll lore from her.

She was a rocker, and lived the rock and roll hero lifestyle though she wasn’t one. Her and the other, older kids in the neighborhood were COOL. They bought us booze when were too young to. They drove us around (really fast). They looked like rock stars, partied like rock stars and lived like rock stars, trying to fan the flames of what was left of the 70’s.

Unfortunately, drug addiction and too many issues finally claimed her spirit. She left the world without having accomplished anything besides giving birth to a couple of kids. Her brother lamented this to me on the phone, finding this the saddest part of the tragedy. I was reminded of Sabbath’s lyric from “Wheels of Confusion:”

“So I found that life is just a game
But you know there's never been a winner
Try your hardest, just to be a loser
The world will still be turning when you're gone”

But I find myself looking around for evidence that the other people in my life have accomplished much more than her. Despite the vast majority of my friends evading the specter of drug addiction, most of them have done nothing greater than keep themselves employed and maybe find someone to love them and maybe have kids with. Not to say that these aren’t feats in the world of today, but was she any less successful in this life than the majority of people?

Then I got to thinking about Generation X, my generation, the generation cursed with enough memory of the 60’s/70’s Utopian experiment so that it’s difficult to accept the world of Zero Tolerance and perpetual war at any cost. The generation that had to suck it during one of the worst economic downturns of the 20^th century. A lost generation stuck between the easy world our parents had and the lucrative world the kids after us had.

Sure, maybe these points are just excuses. But it’s the only way I can explain why so many of my other friends have expressed the same resentment with the way their lives turned out. I’m reminded of Tyler Durden’s rant in Fight Club:

“God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas and waiting tables; they're slaves with white collars. Advertisements have them chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We are the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised by television to believe that one day we'll all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars -- but we won't. And we're learning slowly that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.”

Chuck Palahniuk is speaking for all of Gen X in that passage. We’re an entire generation that hasn’t accomplished anything. There are no historical events that defined Gen X except for a few big concerts, no historic figures except a few actors and several gifted musicians, all of who are most noteworthy for the way they died or the fact they haven’t yet. Entire books have been written discussing why Gen X is such a pack of underachieving slackers. Whether it’s the way the world became a big, expensive drag after 1980 or because the material shit wasn’t worth selling our souls for, my friend isn’t the only one who sat back and let it ride.

My friend’s gift to me in her parting was an outbreak of rare lucidity. From the time I woke up today, my vision has been sharp and focused. The dark storm clouds hover over my landscape, but their sharp edges make shapes that are beautiful to my eyes. The trees glow softly with the life within them, the dying leaves of the past season bright and vibrant as they scatter in the wind. The cool air tastes clean, and even the rudest driver on my commute is sacred, their car a miracle of human potential. And for a moment I think that maybe this moment is why I haven’t bought the bullshit. You can’t sell people happiness. Or piece of mind. Or any of the other things they make you think they have. Maybe my friend died with her soul intact after all.

“I don't want this anger burning in me

It's something from which it's so hard to be free

But none of the tears that we cry in sorrow or rage

Can make any difference, or turn back the page”

--David Gilmour