I sat alone on the subway today, as I usually do, for most of the ride. At a random stop, a tall, thin man came in. As I tend to pay vivid attention to my surroundings, I noticed him entering. He sat right across from me and placed both hands on his knees. Something seemed to have been bothering him, and when I least expected it, the man began speaking to himself — a full conversation with back-and-forth arguments.
For most of this surreal experience, I legitimately couldn’t tell whether he was winning or losing the argument. As I glanced around the subway car, most people were too caught up in their own lives to notice or care about the man. Those who did would smirk as if to say, “Check out the crazy guy,” as they turned their attention back to their phones.
I too must admit to having laughed a little bit internally, but this laughter didn’t last long. What did, however, was a deep introspective thought that had taken over my mind. As I observed the man more and more, I realized he was fully immersed in a world of his own, completely overtaken by his reality. To him, all that was real. Whether I could see the other person or not didn’t matter because he could, which in terms made it real.
Here’s the question that dwelled over my mind: “As much as I like to think of myself as sane, who am I to say that he’s not talking to someone? Because I can’t see them, does that mean they don’t exist, does it make it any less real? This led me to the age-old question of what’s real. Is the train where I was sitting real? And if so, why? Simply because we all agree that it’s real? Does that mean that everything that exists only exists because we perceive it as a universal truth?
As I battled internally with this question, the man was still in a full argument with “himself.” Knowing myself like I do, I knew I had to “interview the man, or else this interaction would haunt me for days.” So I decided that to keep my sanity (or what’s left of it), I had to question the man. I counted down from 3 and began swiftly waving my hand in front of the man’s face, hoping he would stop his conversation and talk to me.
I won’t lie; it wasn’t easy. For a second, I thought to myself, “What’s the plan here? What if he — ” Before I could finish my thought, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yes?”
I let out a loud gulp, and after clearing my throat, I asked, “I don’t mean to bother you or even disrupt what seems to be a nice conversation you got going on there (awkward nervous smile), but I can’t help but ask this (loud deep breath): Do you see someone else? Why are you talking to yourself out loud?”
After what felt like an hour-long pause, the man smiled a bit and raised his eyebrows in a gesture of kindness before responding, “Well, this is a first. There are two answers to your question; the first is the short one.” I looked at him firmly as I awaited his answer. “And that is no, I don’t see someone, nor am I crazy like everyone on this subway perceives me to be. An… And the other answer,” I queried him while mildly stuttering.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for how deep and philosophical his answer would be. The man smiled again, “Well, since you really want to know,” he said. “Society is a structured construct, and as you’ve probably realized, structures are only viable when there’s a strong foundation. To have a strong foundation, you need at least two requirements: most pieces have to be uniform, aka fit a very specific mold, and you must load up the foundation with a lot of pieces so the whole thing doesn’t fall, aka the bottom of the structure needs to be packed.”
He took a short pause and jokingly said, “See where this is going?” I smiled, and he continued. “This means, since birth, we are conditioned to always walk the same, talk the same, and even act the same, through social norms, cultural ethics, and even media and TV. While there are other causes at play — ” “Like the swarm effect,” I quickly added. “Exactly, young man,” as he nodded in approval. “You see, we are conditioned at birth to live in a certain way. The second someone does something different, we perceive them as crazy and dismiss that there could be any truth to their reality.”
Before we could continue our conversation, the train reached the station. The man looked up at the screen and said, “Oh, sorry, young man, but this is me.” I nodded without being able to articulate a word. As he was walking out, he turned to me and said, always remember: “Those who danced were dismissed as being crazy by the ones who couldn’t hear the music.” He bowed his head as a goodbye and went on with his life in his reality. I had heard this quote before, but never in this context, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since.
I wished I had more time to speak with the man, to ask him about his work, his family life, and his plans for the future. But as I sat there in absolute silence, replaying the conversation in my head, a thought occurred to me. What other behaviors and beliefs are we preconditioned to oblige by? How much is my consciousness a product of my upbringing and life experience vs what’s been “pre-built for me”? And more importantly, how free of thought am I?
These are questions I believe we’ll spend the rest of my life attempting to answer, without ever concluding. To think the “crazy man on the train” had an immediate impact on my life is a statement I didn’t think I’d make as I first attempted to ask him a question. But the truth is it did. For the next few days, I began questioning every decision and natural intuition as a possible social construct.
As real and structured as life seems to be, its meaning completely falls apart the second you begin questioning everything about it and the validity of the world around us. Why do we all share very similar paths and experiences? How come we all aspire to achieve similar things and have similar goals?
This was the point I began going down very deep rabbit holes in online forums. “It’s all in the media,” said a random user on an existentialism forum. He continued, “Ever since the Industrial Revolution, we needed more and more workers in the factories. To avoid keeping them from quitting, we’ll give them just enough money and sell them on this idea that if you work hard enough for me, you’ll be able to live this amazing life with a big house, fast car, and all the material luxuries one desires. But don’t get me wrong; we’ll make sure to keep them disposable in case we find someone else to do their job for cheaper.”
While ridiculous at first, I can’t help but agree with this person, to some extent. I mean, money in and of itself is a made concept. A commodity first created as a means to put a value on products soon became the motor behind the giant wheel we all live by. “At least gold has an intrinsic
- JVM
