Author: Konrad Kollnig

I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.

Throughout my work in academia, I’ve met many who even told me in their undergraduates that they really want to pursue an academic career. I admire that. And, I always found that intimidating. Can someone really know for sure where they’re going to end up, especially when it’s still quite a few years further down the line and when careers in academia are notoriously difficult to plan? Why not instead try to focus on the research and teaching that you find meaningful today?

A small, elderly man, smartly dressed,
with an exceptionally lively, intelligent face
and an immediately perceptible air of sadness.
He was, like the rest of us, alone, but also, I must say,
he was the first that struck one as being deeply and truly lonely.

I want to talk about another taboo, besides all the other happy things I talked about here recently (see “The Taboo of Death“): loneliness. I feel lonely quite often.

I am nearly 30 now. Shouldn’t I have figured out this stuff? Yet, I also recently moved cities for a job, and am single. I feel like I have no real idea how to make friends. Is there maybe an app for that? It’s not that I don’t have friends but it gets more difficult to meet new people when you get older. Most of the people at my age are probably simply scrolling social media right now. Clubs are dead. And who’s got time for hobbies when also having to juggle career, friends and family?

I believe many of my age can relate. In this way, oddly, we’re not lonely at all. But it’s nothing that people talk about.

It sometimes seems that wherever one looks there is fear, greed and suffering. They seem to be our main drivers. How then should anyone hope and strive for something meaningful? What even is meaningful?

It seems like I have all this success recently. Essentially everything that I try genuinely in my professional life works out. Most things are easy. I don’t even work super long hours. It just all comes my way, without having to put in so much effort. I guess that’s what they call privilege. Or talent. Or whatever. Having lost my best friend to addiction and childhood abuse 4 months ago, and having lost love to addiction and childhood abuse 5 months ago makes these things pale. And definitely grounds me. What’s striving worth when we can have the perfect moments here and now?

Walking across the streets of London, everyone seems to be in a rush. Everyone seems to have a place that they need to be, which is anywhere but in the here and now. We seem to be addicted to getting out of the here and now to some fantastical other place. Escaping the pain of the here and now, also, seems one of the primary drivers. This, curiously, is supported by the psychological literature, which has defined the minimisation of pain as one of our key drivers. Isn’t that a sad take on the human existence?

A bit more than 1.5 months ago, my best friend suddenly passed away, aged 30. He had been ill a long time; it didn’t come unexpected. For him, it was a release from decades of suffering. And yet, I now wonder why society doesn’t prepare us better for the event of death. Why it’s never really talked about. Does it have to be that way?

Death is our constant companion, but we try to push it to the darkest corners of our consciousness. Carpe diem, right? Or rather YOLO, as we used to say before Facebook became itself something of a digital retirement home. In society’s imposed constant struggle for performance, prestige and perfection, it is so easy to lose track of the simple truth — such as the fact that the clock is ticking, for all of us.