This story is fiction and at the same time true for so many people (especially teenagers). Not exactly the same way as in this story here, but in different ways. The end is tragic, but true as well for so many people in our culture. I wish I could say "have fun" or something. But this story just isn't fun at all. First I thought of summarizing the following story. But then I thought that I can't do it. I (or in fact Daniel Quinn, thanks, Daniel for sending it so fast!) cut it a bit, but this is what Ishmael tells (the story can be found on page 196-198 softcover edition of "My Ishmael"):
"Among her friends in college," Ishmael began, "my benefactor Rachel Sokolow counted a young man named Jeffrey, whose father was an affluent surgeon. Jeffrey became an important person in many lives at this time and later, because he presented people with a problem. He couldn't figure out what to do with himself. He was physically attractive, intelligent, personable, and talented at almost anything he turned his hand to. He could play the guitar well, though he had no interest in a musical career. He could take a good photograph, produce a good sketch, play the lead in a school play, and write an entertaining story or a provocative essay, but he didn't want to be a photographer, an artist, an actor, or a writer. He did well in all his classes but didn't want to be a teacher or a scholar and wasn't interested in following his father's footsteps or in pursuing a career in law, the sciences, mathematics, business, or politics. . . . In spite of all this, he seemed 'well-adjusted,' as it's called. . . .
"Jeffrey's friends never tired of finding new ideas to present to him in hopes of awakening his interest. Wouldn't he enjoy reviewing films for the local newspaper? Had he ever thought of taking up scrimshaw or jewelry making? Cabinetry was put forward as a soul-satisfying occupation. How about fossil hunting? . . . Jeffrey's father was completely sympathetic with his inability to discover an enthusiasm and ready to support him in whatever exploration he might find worthwhile. If a world tour had any appeal, a travel agent would be put to work on it. If he wanted to try the life of an outdoorsman, equipment would be supplied, gladly. If he wanted to take to the sea, a boat would be made ready. . . . He shrugged it all off, politely, embarrassed to be putting everyone to so much trouble.
"I don't want to give you the impression he was lazy or spoiled. He was always at the top of his class, always held a part-time job, lived in ordinary student housing, didn't own a car. He just looked at the world that was on offer to him and couldn't see a single thing in it worth having. His friends kept saying to him, 'Look, you can't go on this way. You've got too much going for you. You've just got to get some ambition, got to find something you want to do with your life!'
"Jeffrey graduated with honors but without a direction. After hanging around his father's house for the summer, he went to visit some college friends who had just gotten married. He took along his knapsack, his guitar, his journal. After a few weeks he set out to visit some other friends, hitch-hiking. He was in no hurry. He stopped along the way, helped some people who were building a barn, earned enough money to keep going, and eventually reached his next destination. Soon it was getting on for winter and he headed home. He and his father had long conversations, played gin rummy, played pool, played tennis, watched football, drank beer, read books, went to movies.
"When spring came, Jeffrey bought a second-hand car and set out to visit friends in the other direction. People took him in wherever he went. They liked him and felt sorry for him, he was so rootless, so ineffectual, so unfocused. . . .
"The years drifted by in this way. Jeffrey watched old friends get married, raise children, build careers, build businesses, win a little fame here, a little fortune there . . . while he went on playing his guitar, writing a poem now and then, and filling one journal after another. Just last spring he celebrated his thirty-first birthday with friends at a vacation cottage on a lake in Wisconsin. In the morning he walked down to the water, wrote a few lines in his journal, then waded into the lake and drowned himself."
Sad story, one would probably say and indeed many people I've told the story to did say it. It seems that something is wrong with Jeffrey. That's what everybody told him. Something was wrong with him. But I'd like to ask the reader of this story a question: Is it true? Is there really something wrong with Jeffrey?
Jeffrey's story is fiction and reality at the same time. There are so many young people committing suicide. Not because they are crazy, but because of their helplessness. Mother Culture tells us that there's something wrong about these peoples.
Jeffrey's story is loosely based on the life of Paul Eppinger. His father Charles published Paul's journal under the title "Restless Mind, Quiet Thoughts". There are also letter exchanges from father and son and Charles also added some explaining lines here and there.
In memory of Daniel Quinn (October 11, 1935 – February 17, 2018)
