“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
The above quote comes from one of my favorite poets, Jack Kerouac, in his novel On the Road. Again, and again, I come back to it because the first time I read it, I remember what it revealed about myself: I, too, love mad people. I enjoy the company of others who are not afraid of the unknown, but who shamelessly let their unique opinions and dreams shine in the midst of the darkening pressure to conform.
Throughout grade school and into middle and high school, I never quite fit in with the cute, giggling girls in many of my classes who all donned the same American Eagle hoodies, hummed the beats to the same mainstream pop songs, and rolled their eyes over some mutual friend of a friend who dumped the attractive star basketball player. I, on the other hand, often came to school wearing thrift-store denim jackets and worn boots.
During class, I discreetly copied song lyrics of Beatles’ songs in the margins of my notebooks. I knew nothing about the relationship between said “friend of a friend” and such and such athlete because, frankly, I once stereotyped most of the school’s athletes as egotistical anyway, judging from how they regarded my guy friends.
Most of my close friends were, indeed, guys. One of my best friends, my brother, who is a year-and-half younger than I, and his companions were always seeking mischief. They did not care who wore what, who said what and to whom, or who was dating who. They cared only for adventure.
Alongside them (and a couple girls, too, who were bored with sitting at home and watching re-runs of teen drama television shows), I recall some of my favorite adolescent memories: spontaneous three a.m. summer swims, sneaking into dilapidated abandoned buildings, jumping off high rocky cliffs into the river, and climbing onto rooftops in four-degree weather to stargaze.
In small-town southern West Virginia where I am from, there are only so many ways to spend one’s free time, and, if foregoing outdoor recreation, there are far less. I would always cringe when someone asked me, “So, what is there to do here?” The usual answer of “hiking, climbing, rafting—uh, the one mini golf place on Harper Road” receives two very different responses depending on the person asking. Those who preferred safer, indoor actives often found themselves wanting.
I suppose, too, growing up in Beckley, West Virginia, has contributed to my love of adventure and my habit of surrounding myself with ambitious, imaginative people. Our youthful imaginations gave way to a myriad of ways to spend our weekends. Beyond this, however, a willingness to take risks was overall essential in shaping our individual futures.
Throughout this rural coalfield region, people had long adopted and adhered to fatalistic tendencies, such as were evident in the common phrase: “It is what it is.” My whole life, I had witnessed friends and relatives who, believing this, allowed phobias of the unknown to consume them. They instead were satisfied with fulfilling ordinary expectations, with memorizing the script of the role to which they believed fate assigned them.
Too often, we think of adventure as a location, as skiing in the Swiss Alps or riding camelback across the Middle Eastern desert. However, true adventure runs much deeper than that. It is the fearless, relentless pursuit of experiencing life and discovering oneself. It is madness. It is not being satisfied with following the crowd, but it is the growling of your stomach, the pulsing of your blood, the insatiable urge of your body in search of something deeper.
As we begin this new year, I encourage you, like Jack Kerouac, to surround yourself with people who will spark adventure in your life. While each of us likes to believe in our own integrity, the influence of our peers is real and tangible. Reevaluate how you choose those to whom you are closest.
Do you simply befriend others because they dress and act like you, or come from backgrounds similar to yours? Perhaps try speaking to the boy in your religion class who is never afraid to offer his opinion, regardless of how popular it is; randomly accept an invite to a midnight run for milkshakes by those who you regard as friendly but “different.” Maybe, be the adventurous friend. Encourage your current friends to be more spontaneous and dine out somewhere besides your usual hangout or incite conservations centered on experiences and thoughts rather than on other individuals.
In 2018, be mad to live. Rather than fear the unfamiliar, open yourself up to new and exciting people. I promise you will not regret it.
