Wouldn’t it be nice if you could switch off your thoughts? The way one turns a faucet on or off, or closes one’s eyes to something one doesn’t want to see. Imagine if it were possible to focus on one thing for a long time. Obviously this would have drawbacks, so we probably can’t do it. We can’t completely stop thinking, but we can completely stop thinking about one thing or another if we find our escape.

For some people it is reading, for others it is writing. Some people listen to loud music and sing at the top of their lungs to get over a particular memory. Many people get lost in a drawing or a sculpture. Some people can find it in the purchase of new and expensive clothes and shoes. Nowadays it’s easy to forget that you exist for hours watching movie after movie after movie; always a door from our harsh reality to a better place. Maybe that’s why there are bad people; they cannot find their escape and so they become as cold as the world they are trapped in, committing acts they feel fit with death, sickness, loss, spite and anger. For now, the real world may not make sense, but I think one day it will. One day we will know the reason why there is so much pain and anguish and suffering, but for now we must smile and bear it and when it seems that a smile will no longer force itself on our lips and the burden is too great to bear, we run away.

I feel compelled to point out here that there is and should be a story for every escape. The story behind the painting is a common phrase and it seems that we are looking for a deeper interpretation for everything; the artist chose that pose not because it looked more natural, but because it shows his infidelity. And the poet chose that word not because he felt it fit that line perfectly, but because that word has a hundred other meanings that linguists could interpret until the end of time. I prefer to think that this takes all the fun out of things. It certainly makes it more difficult to simply enjoy the history one is studying in class. But then again, maybe this technique is someone else’s escape. Maybe they enjoy getting lost imagining all the possible reasons why and how and decided that we student moms should give it a try too. For those who choose to lose themselves in the written word, in the works of others, or in their own works, history is more evident; that’s the point of literature, isn’t it? Both fact and fiction will dictate a certain timeline with selected events of importance for the reader, or writer, to delight in. And any musician or keen ear will be able to tell you exactly what a song is saying, with or without lyrics. How the high, merry parts of a symphony acknowledge new life while harsh drum beats and up-tempo melodies signal danger and suspense. Isn’t it fascinating that something so corporeal can make our hearts beat faster? Join new friends of adjectives and verbs and make us feel exactly how we know that 2D person behind the glass feels. And don’t even get me started on how every piece of art should have some sort of story; a beginning of creation – the blank paper; a midpoint in which the entire work begins to take shape and an end in which the artist, like so many authors and film directors before him, must say goodbye to his work, to his habit that has become part of his life for a while. Then, when another tragedy strikes, whether at home, work, school, college, or leisure, we can retreat to our escape and the story can continue; greeted like an old friend, comfortable like slipping into a recurring dream, a very good dream. And for such a short time the world can be right again. The sun may be shining outside, just like in Claude Monet’s The Poppy Field. And there’s always the constant reassuring reminder that good will always trump evil, whether it’s in the form of your uptight boss or Captain Hook.

So why don’t we spend our time fully committed to our escape? I guess the answer is in the question; if we spent all our time there, it would hardly be an escape. I guess we can also relate to the point early on where if we were to stop thinking about everything for extended periods of time, there could be dangerous consequences; imagine if we were driving with our nose pressed against a book. Or standing on a street corner all day trying to get the light right. Or, God forbid, he spent the whole day glued to the TV. These are all good reasons, but above all, nothing will beat the roller coaster ride that is life. As a wise gargoyle once shared with a misshapen protagonist –

“Life is not a spectator sport; if watching is all you’re going to do, you’re going to watch your life go by without you.” – Laverne, The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Walt Disney.

There is nothing in the entire world that can substitute for true sunlight illuminating your face and warming you to the cockles of your heart. And all the propositions in all the Jane Austen books could never substitute for the real thing. No amount of adjectives can make you feel exactly what ice cream tastes like. Sure, they may tell you the flavor is vanilla or chocolate or strawberry or cookies and cream, but what is vanilla? Or strawberry? It cannot be described, although the menus can try. You just have to write the flavor and hope that the audience understands. And no one, not even the most talented writer, has the ability to describe what notes Florence and the Machine uses for Dog Days Are Over, do they? conceived; ‘starts on a half note – ‘hap’ then goes up a notch or so – ‘pi’ then ‘ness’ is the same note as ‘hap’ after ‘pi’… ‘ it’s just not having the same effect, It is? Not like going home, blaring it on your iPod speakers and singing it at the top of your lungs might get rid of the memory that the new nurse didn’t notice you bought new heels, so you’d be like this. a little higher when you were next to her. Nothing can replace the real emotions you feel when you find out that your mom is having another baby or that your dad finally booked the trip to Rome that he had been promising for a long time. There’s nothing better than the real-life smell of fine cooking – I’m talking chocolate chip cookies and fresh bread. The smell of the sea, the sounds of a harp, the beauty of a dewy rose.

I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I’m on the run. I have left the real world behind and filled it with a utopian shadow; they chose all the bad parts: the suffocating smell of downtown pollution, the sound of fingernails scraping board or paper, the sight of that hideous monstrosity they dare to call the modern library. Perhaps it is not good to imagine things this way. It can be considered cowardice; pretending that everything will be fine; hiding as long as possible from a problem, praying that it will go away on its own. I said that nothing could supplant these gems of humanity, the diadems of nature; the smell of cookies and roses and so on. In fact, I firmly hold this belief. But when the going gets tough, when we’re presented with the bits of coal that humanity and nature have to offer, is it really that bad to choose the painkiller over the nasty cure? What if there is no cure, unpleasant or not? Is the painkiller really that bad then? Get lost in another better world. Just for a while, just to lessen the pain, make it bearable, make life worth living a little longer, until the best doctor in the world has tended to your open wound.

I think so. But I suppose we should all also consider that coal, with a little work, can also be turned into diamond. Or what coal is worth to a hot man is compared to that of a cold man. Perhaps not all of our problems are as hopeless as they seem; Opportunities come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. And surely someone somewhere is worse off than you. Perhaps your neighbors envy your problems as much as you would rather have theirs? Who knows? Certainly not. But that hardly matters; I’m going somewhere in Idris with Jace (those who escape through the written word, or even lately, the moving image, may know what I mean here). He just found out where Sebastian is and even though I… I read the book before, I can’t wait to see what happens. I guess I’ll see you around. Happy getaway!