This blog post comes from my previous website that had closed a year ago, but has been imported here, and has been edited. I think this was my best blog post, and I wanted to share it here. Hope you guys enjoy it. I will publish every now and then, but please check my Instagram for more updates! Cheers.
I'm aware that I vanished for a bit. You're probably thinking, well, you're always busy anyway, and you wouldn't be wrong. Balancing life as a content creator, manager, and aspiring pilot is anything but peaceful. I've come to appreciate holidays deeply.
Previously, I had been drafting a piece titled On My Divorce with France. However, I chose to shelve it. Four years have elapsed since then, and bridges have been mended.
Fast-forward to July 27, and I completed my trial flight. This experience was nothing short of revelatory. Then, on the 1st of August, I took on the role of manager at the shop where I'd been working. Having already published a book, I thought I knew something about responsibility, but gripping the yoke of an aeroplane and overseeing an assistant manager, three supervisors, and four baristas was an eye-opener.
Now, there's no room left for dwelling on my anxiety. I must remain poised. During my inaugural flight, I discovered, to my chagrin, that my cockpit door wasn't properly secured. I also learned never to relinquish control of the plane mid-flight. Once we completed a crosswind landing and I engaged the parking brakes, a newfound clarity emerged. Life, I realised, is both meaningful and meaningless. Just a few months ago, I was a different person, clouded by depression. Now, the narrative has shifted.
The feeling that envelops you upon fulfilling a childhood dream is perplexing. On my bus journey home, post-flight, I had a revelation: this was the antidote to my depression I'd been searching for. At 27, I've written two books, published one, clocked my first flight hour, am in the midst of penning the final draft of Free Expensive Lies, and now manage a team. Taking a leaf from my grandparents' book, I decided to lead others. In 27 years, I've achieved a significant amount. This brings to mind Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong, whose lives spiralled into alcoholism and depression post-Apollo 11. What more could they possibly achieve? This thought catalysed my own contemplation about life's purpose and meaning.
It took me years to break away from my parents' expectations. Had I heeded my mother's advice, I'd be entrenched in a life void of passion or ambition. Instead, I chose to seize my destiny with both hands, leading to this moment: I piloted a plane.
Two months back, I stumbled through yet another tempest in my life, and I erred. However, mistakes are the crucible in which we refine our wisdom. People around me often express awe at my accomplishments, to which I've always been sceptical. But when I reflect, it's true that not many 27-year-olds can claim to have piloted a plane, authored two books, and managed a London-based shop simultaneously. It may sound arrogant to say so, but modesty has its limits, especially when self-assessment is honest.
In that dark period two months ago, I reached out to CALM, questioning my will to live. I soon realised the problems plaguing me were solvable, merely obscured solutions. There are no mistakes, only lessons yet to be fully grasped.
When I began writing Free Expensive Lies, I wanted to precede each opus with a note on life's meaning. My editor, citing reader attention spans, suggested I nix the idea. Although I complied, I've kept those thoughts tucked away for a day like today. In light of my recent landing at London Elstree Airfield, aged 27, I find this the perfect occasion to explore life's meaning once more.
My name is Taylor. I'm as human as the next person, two arms, two legs, a head, a brain. Yet, societal labels confine me; some deem me stupid for being their manager, others brand me a deviant for defying gender norms in my attire. But their opinions? Honestly, I couldn't care less. Stupidity, much like death, afflicts others more than it does the person it targets. I was born on January 9, 1995, in France, a small piece in the jigsaw puzzle that is Earth.
In the grand scheme of things, my existence is a stroke of exceptional luck. If I stand here today, able to manage a shop and fly a plane, it's down to a chain of fortunate events that stretches back millions of years.
At this point, you might wonder why I've chosen to articulate this. Simply put, we're both fortunate.
I reside in the United Kingdom, distinct from the European Union yet still part of the European continent. I inhabit a planet perfectly positioned in its solar system, neither too close nor too far from its star, the Sun. This fortunate celestial alignment fosters life, offering me a safe, nourishing environment. My world is sheltered by a neighbouring gas giant, Jupiter, whose gravitational pull shields me from cosmic hazards. Even the Earth's moon plays its role, regulating tides and ensuring the planet's stable rotation.
My lineage, too, is a product of serendipity. My parents hail from a long line of survivors, ancestors who adapted, innovated, and conquered their environments to pave the way for my existence. They discovered fire, invented the wheel, and harnessed electricity. Each generation, contributing the puzzle of innovation and survival, brought me one step closer to this present moment.
My parents' meeting was a serendipitous event, punctuated by love and orchestrated by a grand design unbeknownst to them. They found each other at a singing competition in Northern France, a stage set by my grandfather. Neither was late; nothing stood in their way. Their connection, fueled by serotonin and physical allure, was the beginning of something far-reaching yet unbeknownst to them at the time.
The course of their relationship unfolded as it should. The notion of having a child germinated in their minds. Biological processes took over, culminating in my conception. My journey from a single cell to a complex organism, then an infant, was a tapestry of unbroken successes. Every cell division, every developmental stage, executed flawlessly.
In the grand scheme of things, consider the reverse, a single missing link in this chain of fortunate events. Imagine a solar system without Jupiter to shield us. One change, and neither you nor I would be here to ponder these musings.
Now, here I stand, at the intersection of past and future, ready to take on a world teeming with challenges. I didn't become a manager, writer, and pilot out of mere desire. It was a promise to my late father, a pledge to continue the fight. When I encounter my generation lamenting their exhaustion, I wonder, what will their response be when they reach 30?
As I once penned in the prelude of Free Expensive Lies, a segment ultimately excised, it's all a game. A peculiar game, to be sure, one with a predetermined end: death. No matter your background or ambitions, your missions are fundamentally tied to your survival.
From the moment you're born, certain milestones await you. First, you learn to walk—a feat you can't afford to fail. Next, speaking becomes essential. While you may not achieve complete fluency, yet being understood is crucial. You must also learn cleanliness and effective communication. Simultaneously, your young brain prunes unnecessary neural pathways, and your body adapts to its surroundings. Though parents often provide the necessary guidance for these foundational skills, some of us, including myself, aren't as fortunate.
Your first major assignment in life then arrives: mastering a field of study. Education becomes the platform for this endeavor. While it's tempting to dismiss the educational system (I once did myself) the skill you acquire ensures your survival. Consider our ancestors: had they not honed their tool-making and hunting skills, they wouldn't have survived. They had to excel, not merely compete. The same principle applies now. Your ability to master a skill not only ensures your survival but also sets the stage for the well-being of your future descendants.
The possibilities for mastery are varied. You can opt for roles ranging from a rule-enforcer like a politician or police officer to a problem-solver like a researcher or meteorologist. If nurturing others is your calling, you might become a healthcare provider. Alternatively, you could choose a role that offers legal aid or even entertainment. Ultimately, the career you select impacts your standing in the social hierarchy, which can, in turn, affect your relationships.
In essence, you have a multitude of career paths before you. Don't let societal expectations confine your choices. Life is a game, and whether you become the next Napoleon Bonaparte, Stalin, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Aryton Senna, Steve Jobs or a 9-to-5 marketing executive named Karen, the important thing is to master your chosen field. If you hate your job, remember: survival of the fittest applies to humans as much as it does to any other species. Your level of success can indeed impact your attractiveness to potential mates.
The second part of your life's mission is reproduction. Either bring children into the world who will, in turn, have their own children, or choose the path of wisdom like me and opt out. Yet, even without offspring, you must still find a way to thrive. Living alone presents its own set of challenges. To distill it, your life's objectives are threefold: survival, mastery, and reproduction. Once you've fulfilled these, your role is essentially complete.
Ageing is inevitable. Your spouse may grow accustomed to your quirks, only to leave you at 40 in pursuit of lost youth—or vice versa. Life has a departure and arrival, a start and a finish. You peak, but you can't sustain the pinnacle forever. Hence, legacy becomes your concern, especially as the clock ticks toward your expiry date. While you may not know the exact day, your body will offer subtle indicators, from fatigue to other health irregularities, signalling your decline until the final curtain call.
Let's sum it up with historical figures. Napoleon Bonaparte rose to power, dominated Europe but eventually found himself exiled. Stalin's paranoia cost him his life, isolated in his bedroom. Mozart, a prodigious composer, left an indelible mark on music before dying young. Ayrton Senna pushed speed to the edge, until it claimed him. Steve Jobs revolutionised technology but couldn't save himself with alternative medicine. And Karen? Her existence is underwritten by the contributions of those who came before her, even as she navigates the mundanities of modern life.
As a footnote, the world we inhabit was shaped by these figures. Napoleon's influence extends to our legal systems, and the emergence of sovereign nations. Stalin's rule serves as a lesson against the perils of communism. Mozart's compositions resonate even today. Senna remains a legend in motorsports. Steve Jobs’ innovation has revolutionised daily life. And Karen? Well, her legacy remains to be seen.
Just like those five figures, your expiry date looms. Regardless of who you are, your end is the same: ashes or a rotting corpse six feet under. The stages are inescapable: Pallor Mortis, where your skin pales as oxygen-starved blood turns toxic; Algor Mortis, the cooling of your body; Rigor Mortis, a brief stiffness; and Livor Mortis, the pooling of blood under gravity's influence. Eventually, decomposition sets in, your body succumbing to the larvae, flies, and scavengers that feast on your organs, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind.
All that you once were, your creations, joys, leaderships, children, savings, professional life, even your frivolous moments, all come to an end beneath a tombstone. You become just another name in a cemetery, a part of Earth's impermanent tapestry. But don't despair. In time, even Earth will succumb to the sun's transformative evolution, consuming its hydrogen, inflating as it turns to helium, growing brighter and ultimately swallowing our planet. In under a million years, the atoms that once made you will serve as fuel for this dying star, the very entity that once gave you life.
In the grand scheme of things, this story might not be uplifting, but it's the immutable narrative for every living being on this planet. How does it make you feel?
Now, ponder for a moment. Consider the person you hold dearest. There must be someone whose presence warms your very soul. Perhaps the fate I've outlined awaits you both. Yet, you can revel in the present moment. Don't aspire to be the sovereign of all existence; you're bound to falter. Instead, make a significant impact here and now. Excel in what you do. Go outdoors, engage in some physical exercise, live out your dreams, and, by all means, take to the skies in that plane. Engage in the pleasures of life—but exercise caution. Savour the drinks but know this: you are the pilot of your life, with the yoke firmly in your grasp. Heed my final counsel: don't make the same mistake I did. Keep that yoke steady. The last thing you want is to stall and plummet.
Taylor Victoria Holcroft
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