Have you watched "Tick Tick . . . Boom"? Yes, the movie where Andrew Garfield brilliantly portrays Jonathan Larson. The movie is based on the autobiographical musical dealing with Larson's anxiety about turning 30. Now, for someone who is already on the flip of 30, the movie is a non-saccharine reminder of the anxieties tied to what can be termed as the demise of youth and the onset of the second half of life; it is a reminder that if you were a radioactive element, you probably hit your half life and turned from Uranium to Thorium - you are no longer the same overzealous, under-careful little pain is the neck that you used to be. But, what can a man in his 30’s take away from the movie?
Yardsticks for measuring success
One of the key, if not the key, concern that Larson contemplates as part of the musical is success. Given that each one of us is running a different race yet all of us seem to be running on the same track, how correct or incorrect would it be to measure everyone using the same measures of success? A songwriter who doesn't have a musical on Broadway by 30 can be labeled a failure; a corporate employee who is not earning a salary in six figures by 30 is probably a failure too. Or probably not. That is where the essence of individuality comes to the rescue of humankind. As individuals, we have the liberty of choosing our own yardsticks to measure what success looks like for us. Probably one may not be earning a six figure salary but has time to volunteer or has time to help their kids with homework and that constitutes their measure of success. Of course, that stands directly in contrast with our needs and understanding of how a social construct works atop common shared beliefs. Individualism does not bode well for existing social constructs in general and individualizing something like measures of success is a blow to the societal fabric at large. Yet, for the sake of the lives and mental peace of innumerable people who struggle to meet prejudiced criteria of failure and success put forth by the society, it is paramount for us to believe in our own goals and our own success.
The definition of love
How can love not be part of an autobiographical piece? The 20's are as good a time for romantic intrigues as any. Young men often pursue fleeting crushes like their everlasting happily ever-after to end up heart-broken, just to start anew as soon as another turns up. They actually made this concept into a neat little sitcom which is the claim to fame for Neil Patrick Harris. The game of love in the 20's is akin to snakes and ladders - progress, frustration and repetition. By the 30's, there are, more often than not, stories of deep-seated pain from a love that was lost and the contentment of a love that was found. The very definition of love and the inextricably linked excruciating heartache is something that accompanies the 30's like a bit of gray in the hair and that odd pain in the back - it is quintessential and typical. Our minds, emotions and hormones are not mature enough to comprehend love or heartbreak in the 20's. Of course, many claim to find love early in life and many more still proclaim to have been in the throes of heartbreak at a young age. Yet these are mere shadows of the actual thing, a low quality Xerox of what it actually feels like. It takes a pinch of aged wisdom to truly love a person and it needs an abundance of understanding to lose a love. It takes an understanding of how the fabric of lives are woven to understand how they intertwine and how they diverge; that is meant for eyes not with the furious passion of the 20's but the raging calm of the 30's.
The fleeting nature of life
Another theme brought up numerous times was the ephemeral nature of life. How can we live with planning and providence when we have no assurances of the continuance of our lives the very next instant? What keeps us doing so irrespective as a species, day after day and not nose-dive into a nihilistic doomsday cult? Perhaps the answer is 'Hope'. We wake up each day with new hope and then build on it throughout the day, day after day, hoping to see the payout of the term deposit we initiated, hoping to see our kids grow up, hoping the seeds we planted out in the garden would turn into trees. The alternative, honestly, is not too intriguing; if not hope, then the other explanation tends towards god complex or megalomania, both of which are reasons enough to drive humanity onwards but neither could be pervasive enough to drive an entire species. Or could it?
