“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.
And the human race is filled with passion.
And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”
— “Dead Poets Society“
One take-away is way-apparent — deep, down inside that ‘passion,’ wealth, fame and all its attachments, don’t mean shit.
Dovetails nicely with this: Suicide is nearly twice as common among adults as adolescents. Among middle-aged people, it seems to be on the rise. The highest rates are among men between the ages of 45 and 59. Thirty out of every 100,000 such men take their lives annually, compared to about 9 of every 100,000 women in the same age range. For both men and women of that age, the suicide rate rose about 50 percent between 1999 and 2009, for reasons that are not entirely clear.
Nothing to do with offing oneself is clear.
Emily Dickinson long, long ago — ‘When One Has Given Up One’s Life‘
When One has given up One’s life
The parting with the rest
Feels easy, as when Day lets go
Entirely the West
The Peaks, that lingered last
Remain in Her regret
As scarcely as the Iodine
Upon the Cataract.
Of course, seize that Day…