EXISTENTIAL BREAKDOWN

I had an existential breakdown at a restaurant the other day. No, that’s not the name of a dish I ordered. Although, if that were an item served at restaurants, it wouldn’t be on the menu. It would delivered to your table unexpectedly like an amuse-bouche, if, say, the chef was a sadist who knew your most profound psychological vulnerabilities. But I digress.

An existential breakdown is really the worst of all the major breakdowns, because it affects you at your deepest level. Why am I here?  Not specifically “here”, (although maybe. Who knows?), but more in the grander sense of “Here”. Life itself. What is your purpose? You think you know, but far too often, you spend the bulk of your life developing skills for a particular goal that for one reason or another never comes to fruition, all because reality and aspiration never coalesce. For example, let's say you play basketball in high school. You’re six three and score 30 points a game. You dream of playing in the NBA, but you don’t get scouted for a scholarship. So you go to a junior college as a walk-on. But you start shrinking. Literally. Five inches a year. By your senior year, you’re four foot eight. Now you’re too short to even play video game basketball. There is a height requirement if you read the fine print. What do you do? That was you’re life’s dream. All your focus went into that dream. And now it’s gone. That, and twenty inches. After years and years of dreaming for a happy ending, you instead are the butt of a cruel joke. Even though you may not relate to that example, it is a all-too-common of an occurrence. And the reason why so many people seem lost.

There are some people who never breakdown. Everything comes easy to them. They know exactly what they want, and they get it. I hate those people. I do. I want to kill them. Metaphorically. Don’t worry, I’m incapable of committing such an act ~ even as a fantasy. In the darkest moments of my past, when the thought of murder may have tip-toed into my mind as a possible solution to a crisis, some innate sense of morality always prevented me from even imagining the scenario. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve closed my eyes and mentally placed myself, weapon in hand, in front of an adversary, only to toss it aside and instead take the person to court. If you’re wondering, I’ve never lost a case. Retribution is meted out by the legal system, and my conscious is clear.

Besides, do you know how difficult it is to metaphorically kidnap and torture someone? Indirectly, or course, because even within the context of a literary device, it’s advised to stay as far removed from your subject as possible. The last thing you want to do is have an existential breakdown based on the way you’re handling your original existential breakdown. Making that mistake could suck you into the Vortex of Existential Crisis, and once you’re trapped in that, forget it. There's no escape. You start questioning EVERYTHING, probing for esoteric meaning to the most innocuous events.

“Why did I order coffee?” (This is when I was in that restaurant). “Do I really need coffee? I’m not sleepy. Am I a caffeine addict? Was I compelled by a chemical urge to order it? Should I seek help? If there are twelve-step groups for caffeine addicts, what refreshments would they put out for the members? Speaking of refreshments, why did I say I was interested in the special? Blue cheese soup and a gyro? That doesn’t go with coffee at all. In fact, in doesn’t even go with each other. It’s actually quite disgusting. Am I disgusting? Is my soul disgusting? Is that why I’m alone in this restaurant? Could this be the best life has to offer me? A disgusting man eating disgusting food? How did I get here? Is there a possible pathway out?”

At that very moment, your server approaches your table with your plate of disgust. “Would you like anything else?”

It feels like the first time you've truly contemplated that question. “Yes”, you shout. "I do! My god, have I been suppressing my actual desires all my life?”

Your waitress’ silence leads to a new, and extremely deep subcategory of questions. Rather than privately speculating, you cut to the chase and ask her directly, addressing her by name, hoping that this simple touch of personalization will reveal a greater truth. 

“Are you truly capable of enhancing the lives of others, Madison? Or were you just being rhetorical? Because if you are so capable, I don’t want this! I want something else!”

She quickly glances down to her chest. “Madison is the name of the restaurant. I’m Penelope. My nameplate fell off. Anyway, I was only asking you if you wanted more…”

“More! Yes! I DO want more! Oh, it feels good to say that out loud! Thank you!”

Penelope smiles awkwardly, refills your coffee and walks away. Which makes you wonder, “Why did she leave? I didn’t tell her what I wanted more of in life. I have a list I carry with me, it’s just a matter of digging through my wallet and finding it. I just updated my Top Ten last week, so I know it’s there.” You absently reach out for your coffee, and a small wave generated by the movement of the cup splashes out on your hand. Just enough to cause a small verbal reaction, but not enough to leave lasting pain.

“Is that what she’s trying to tell me?” you think. “That no matter what my choice, I’m going to get burned? Who wants to live in a world as dismal as that? Or perhaps, the coffee symbolic of what she can provide for me? She did fill it all the way to the rim. There’s not even room for cream and sugar. Wait… is that the message? The cup is an extension of myself, and the coffee is life. So, fill it to the top! And don’t worry about needing room for cream and sugar, because they aren’t essential to the mix. Is she telling me there is no need to dilute and over-sweeten my life? Stop looking to alter what I have in front of me, and experience it pure, and at full strength? To take life as it comes, and enjoy every sip for as long as it lasts?”

“Oh, Penelope! My darling Penelope! You’ve given me the answer that’s eluded me for my entire life, even though it’s always been right there, in my grasp, but unrecognizable! I cannot wait to savor every moment that presents itself to me in life!”

In the midst of your jubilation, she walks back and hands you the check.

“No!” you shout. “It’s not my time to go! I want to stay! You promised me more!”

"Right."

Without saying another word, she takes back the check, rips it up, and hands you a menu. A second chance. All of the choices are right in front of you. All you have to do is pick what you want. But, what if you pick the wrong thing? Should you ask her for suggestions? In your peripheral vision, you see Penelope lead a man to the booth next to you. She offers him a menu, but he declines, saying he knows exactly what he wants. God, I hate people like that.