Matt Patterson

I’ve never really considered myself to be an existentialist. As interesting as I find the concept, it has always seemed like an odd practice. I’ve always enjoyed entertaining thought and philosophy, trying to understand what I believe, why I believe it, and upon what those beliefs are contingent. But beyond that, I’ve never been a “live for the moment” person; I am always thinking about the future, calculating the future significance of my present actions. I usually don’t make decisions without reflecting on the past.

But lately, I have had no choice.  I find myself in an unfamiliar world of massive debt; I got here, not by choice, but by circumstance.  This is the land of opportunity, where anyone can attend college by means of private borrowing and obtain a career lucrative enough to repay that borrowing, at least until he is stopped dead in the middle of the process, still liable for past debts, unable to obtain future ones and therefore unable to obtain the education he needs.  Then struck by disaster, cancer, covered by insurance but still so overwhelming as to ruin his life–my life.  And to top it all off, brake lines on the car rust through, adding $500 worth of insult to financial injury.

Was it for this life of debt and anguish that I fought the darkness of cancer?  To be quite honest, was it worth the fight?  Or would this soul be better off dead, free from the anguish?  Certainly, there would have been some pain in dying, but such pain is only short-lived, unlike the pain of living paycheck-to-paycheck, trying simply to get by and survive.

And so maybe this journey has created an existentialist in me, because in this election year, I could care less if the so-called “Marriage Protection Amendment” passes:  allowed to marry or not, I still must carry this burden; I could care less if a Democrat becomes President, or a Republican:  I will still find myself in a maelstrom of debt; I could care less if we achieve healthcare for all, since it will have no ex post facto effect on my situation.

So is this a life I would fight for again?  A life so shrouded in misery that I must cherish every minute I am alive, since I may find out, in the next, that I will die, or my life will be ruined in one way or another?   A life where, even if I can control the financial burden I carry, I may never be able to get a decent job without a degree–since I have all but given up on a college education right now–or buy a car or a home simply because I was a victim of circumstance?  Is this a life that was worth fighting for?  With every minute that goes by, I find it harder and harder to answer that question.