Risikosamfunnet

So I've been reading all the crime novels written by Anne Holt for an anthology on Nordic crime fiction that I was browbeaten into contributing to. One of them features a mastermind serial killer who, against common wisdom, turns out to be female. I have to say that Anne Holt gets a lot of flak for being a sloppy writer, for being a celebrity (in Norway, which doesn't take much, but she's the real deal, even here), etc., but after having read all eleven (!) novels, I have to say that I have found them very thought provoking. Collectively they are an interesting commentary on and chronicle of Norway's cultural growing pains in the face of globalization.

The female serial killer reflects at one point on her feelings about risk taking. She is watching someone engaging in some extreme sport or another (I think it's paragliding), which she views with the utmost contempt. For her, all they're doing is risking their physical existence, and only during the duration of whatever activity it is. In her own life, in contrast, she risks everything all the time. Now, I'm not planning on going out and becoming a serial killer, but what she says really fascinates me:

"Hun selv tok sjansen på selve livet. Det var spenningen ved aldri å lande, aldri å komme i mål, som gjorde henne unik. Risikoen økte for hver dag, slik hun ønsket og villet det. Den var der bestandig, intens og livsgledende: Sjansen for å bli innhentet og avslørt." (Holt 2005 (2004): 584)

For some reason the passage really struck me. In a way, it's kind of parallel to what I think the life of an intellectual or artist can and should be. I've always found it infinitely more interesting to challenge myself intellectually than physically. I guess I realized pretty early on that I could reach the limits of my physical body within a certain time frame, and that the amount of effort it would take to achieve absolutely minute improvements in performance just wasn't interesting to me. Theoretically, I could train for hours and hours and still never be as good as the next level (though I could possibly get close working that hard).

Intellectually, however, (and probably creatively as well) there's really no knowing how far one can go, and of course the number of years one has to experiment is on average much longer. That makes it much more appealing to pursue, much more worth taking a risk and committing time and energy to.

I love the metaphor of "not landing" not "reaching the goal" from the serial killer.

Along similar lines, I recently got an email from a graduate student asking for career advice. I really sympathize with this particular student, and took a long time to ponder my response. And actually, I was pretty suprised at what I eventually wrote:

I do think that one of life's "lessons" (corny, I know) at middle age is the realization that not all one's dreams are going to be fulfilled. I think at a certain point (for me it's happening right now, at 41), pragmatism starts to kick in, and that can have a pretty profound impact on one's self image.The realization that you can't do and be everything you though you could (or would) can either lead to despair (and really obnoxious acting out, the ubiquetous midlife crisis) or to embracing one's skills, the things that do (despite everything) give meaning and personal satisfaction.

There's no way to know whether that was helpful to him, but it did give me a certain clarity about where I'm at right now.

I've also carried with me for a couple of years now the words of a really good friend (you know who you are!) who mused about turning fifty that she was in a phase where she felt that she had already experienced everything. I'm not really sure what I think about that, and really didn't have a good response to her at the time.

Not sure how (or if) any of these thoughts fit together. I guess maybe this can be categorized as musing about middle age? In a way it's hopeful, since those unmeasurable mental and creative capacities are still tempting me...