The argument that experience is knowledge is an old one but how far should we be willing to go to get the ‘rush of life’? Many of the experiences we speak of as important, such as heartbreak, death, birth, love are all out of our natural grasp. They all just happen. Therefore, surely we can be cut some slack and allowed the act of going out purely with the intention of creating what we personally consider as experience such as: a first kiss, going to university, losing your virginity, travelling, hell it could be as small as eating a 20 box of krispy kremes for no reason, all of which are justifiable acts as otherwise ‘we haven’t lived’. Yet who decides what is enough or not enough living, and how far is too far to go just for an experience?
If bad decisions can equate to theatrical stories and ‘experiences’ are they really bad, or simply demonstrative of someone putting true gusto into the humble act of living? Perhaps the easy life is no longer trendy, now we all thirst for the darker sections and turbulent times as they are what makes better conversation at a dinner party.
Are we addicted to life or just making bad choices?
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