It was a beautiful day.
I was in an upbeat mood as I got into my SUV and turned the ignition.
But the radio put a damper on my spirit.
Station after station featured songs with heavy lyrics. Heartbreaks. Cheating. Despair.
These sordid tunes ran the genre gamut. Country, rock, pop. They were everywhere.
Good Lord, I wondered aloud. Is everyone going through it right now?
The answer to that was no, of course. There were plenty of people out there who were having as sunny a day as I was.
But us brightsiders had something else in common. All of us had experienced a time without smiles on our faces. Times when we sat with our heads in our hands.
We had once been broken. And the radio was not going to let us forget it.
Rites of passage.
They abound throughout our society.
We remember when we got our driver’s license, went to prom, or moved out of our family home.
And we’ll never forget our first heartbreak.
That deep, bitter despair is a unique kind of pain. The sting of the loss is counteracted by a deep sense of longing.
We want to walk right back into the fire to get back what we had — somehow without getting scorched. And the sheer impossibility of this desire only amplifies the throbbing we feel from head to toe.
Heartbreak, in other words, is a Howitzer. It lays waste to our sensibilities, rendering us a mess. It’s far from our favorite sensation.
So, why is it memorialized time and again in songs, novels, and movies? Why are our most vulnerable moments packaged up and thrown back in our faces?
Artistic license has something to do with it. The most visceral of emotions drive the richest of narratives. And entertainers are master storytellers at heart.
But that explanation only goes so far. Those songs wouldn’t make the radio if we refused to hear them. Those movies wouldn’t be greenlighted if we refused to see them. Those novels wouldn’t get published if we refused to read them.
Yes, we’re willing participants in this endeavor. We offer our attention and our hard-earned dollars to the stories of our worst moments.
This is nonsensical behavior. Or is it?
Why do we fall? So, we can get back up again.
A young Bruce Wayne hears this advice from his father at the start of the movie Batman Begins.
The advice is literal in origin, as Bruce has just fallen down a bat-infested well. But it’s also meant to be symbolic — namely as a tagline for resilience.
The message lands well with most audiences. But it failed to do so with me, when I first saw the film.
Why go through all that trouble? I thought. Wouldn’t it be better not to fall in the first place?
This pompous reaction was a telltale sign of my adolescence. I was in high school when Batman Begins was released. I figured I knew what was best.
In truth, I had no idea.
I hadn’t yet experienced those core rites of passage. I hadn’t had my heart broken, or seen my dreams dashed. I hadn’t lifted myself out of the void.
Those developments did eventually come to pass. And once they did, I started viewing Batman Begins far differently.
It turns out I was better for suffering the fall. Surviving the worst allowed me to pursue my best, uninhibited. Plus, it left a chip on my shoulder I had no designs on relinquishing.
These advantages are not mine alone. Indeed, many who have gotten knocked off their feet have found redemption in the ordeal.
The catch is that we need to be shattered to be able to pick up the pieces. We must first suffer if we hope to find salvation.
This is what’s behind The Breakdown Industrial Complex. It’s why we can’t escape heartache, no matter where we turn. And it’s why finding an upbeat tune on the radio is so hard.
Offer up your best defense. But this is the end. This is the end of the innocence.
No, an old Don Henley song wasn’t featured within the heartbreak medley as I drove down the road. But perhaps it should have been.
There’s something haunting about that tune. The soothing mix of piano, bass, and melody belies the dark and cynical lyrics.
Whenever I hear that song, I think of 9/11. It was a harrowing day that impacted so many lives. And it left an indelible mark on mine.
I’ve often said that 9/11 was the end of my innocence. How could it not be?
I was adjacent to so many of the horrors of that day, and the days that followed. I was barely an adolescent at that time, but I could feel the devastation and heartbreak.
Still, there’s a reason why there are precious few songs, movies, or novels about that awful day. The rupture was too widespread and eternal for us to take anything positive from the experience. There are no silver linings for a mass tragedy.
Indeed, the first rule of The Breakdown Industrial Complex is that the disruption must be overwhelmingly personal. We must face tribulations that shatter our own status quo, so that we can build something greater out of the shards.
All that heartbreak-themed entertainment? It’s just a communal outlet for our individual suffering and redemption.
This all proved a bit awkward for me. There was a sizable gap between the global event that shattered my innocence and the acute occurrences that shattered my hopes and dreams.
But having now experienced both ordeals, I will admit I’m better it. Less naïve. More resilient.
And somehow wishing it could all have been arranged a bit differently.
When I was growing up, my father would occasionally make pizza for dinner.
His scratch-made pies were always a treat, and he’d let me partake by punching the pizza dough after the yeast had risen.
The punch was mostly an honorary step — a way to stage the dough for its imminent placement in the pan. But it still gave me pause.
Did I really have to hurt the dough with my knuckles? Wasn’t there a less violent way to get to the destination?
The answer, of course, was no. And despite my hesitation, I would eventually let fly with my right fist.
Even so, all these years later, I find myself asking similar questions.
It’s clear that we can accomplish great things after suffering setbacks. We can find love after heartbreak. We can find passion after dreams are dashed. We can find resilience from the depths of despair.
But wouldn’t it be better if we could reap these rewards without suffering so much pain? If we didn’t have to break into pieces to make ourselves whole?
That’s not the way it works, of course. The Breakdown Industrial Complex is there for a reason.
But I can still dare to imagine. To scheme for a day where gains don’t come at such a steep cost. Where the radio might actually play an upbeat song or two. Where levity is more than a fleeting notion.
Perhaps we don’t have to fall apart to put ourselves back together. Perhaps a less heart-wrenching future awaits us.
Let us hope that day comes.