Reality

You walk down a street. It’s cold and raining, and you’re rather unhappy. You’ve left your job, which you don’t particularly enjoy, nor do you derive much other benefit from it. Your boss is a jerk and you don’t get paid well. You kick an empty can down this alleyway and watch it clatter down the stones in front of you.

You see a homeless person. He says nothing to you as you pass him, but a few seconds after he is out of your eyesight, you hear some shuffling behind you. You turn around and see that the homeless man has disappeared.

“Hello,” his substitute, a man wearing a monocle and long black cape, says to you. “I noticed you looked rather unhappy and I figured that this might help you out a bit.” He speaks with a manic assuredness and you feel your shoulders slouch forward in relaxation.

This was interesting, you think. Or maybe you’re intrigued, but a little surprised. Or maybe, in spite of that initial relaxation wave you felt, you’re afraid you’re about to be shot by a maniac.

“Go on,” you say. Or you try to. It turns out you are actually shocked and the words can only come out of your mouth in a terrified gargle.

He smiles at you like the Cheshire Cat.

“Well,” the man pulls a cane out of thin air and starts twirling it around. “I have a special remedy for folks like you.” He waits for your response, as if he just clearly announced his intentions.

“I’m not sure I’m interested.” You say it like he’s hawking a used car.

“Well, all you would have to do is take this single pill – ” you start to walk away “ – you can take it at your own leisure of course, far away from me or any other danger you may perceive. But take the pill and you will enter into a dream state that is more pleasurable than this one. No, before any questions, I must specify that in this dream world, your life will not be perfect, but it will be at least slightly more pleasurable. And it won’t be better in any specific way, at least I can’t guarantee that. You may have a supermodel for a wife. You may be the richest man in the world. I don’t know, maybe you can fly or something. You may be everything ever wanted, and you may be absolutely nothing. But it will be – at the very least, I absolutely assure you – vaguely better than this life. Of course it may be more. But it will at least be vaguely, indescribably better.”

He thinks your unhinged jaw was opened and about to speak.

“Now wait, just a few more rules. Upon entering this dream state, you will completely forget the life you are currently living, and there will be no way of your returning to this life. As I said before, the world will not be perfect. Bad things will still happen, sometimes with positive results. It will still rain. You will, for example, feel lonely enough to want to be with people, or hungry enough to enjoy food. You will, of course, still die. But that’s just inevitable, isn’t it? Regardless, that’s it.”

You stare at him in silence for a few minutes. He is bouncing from foot to foot, waiting for your response.

So, what do you do?

Let’s first assume that you, for whatever reason, completely trust the obviously insane man speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense, but often the best opportunities in life are overlooked for their absurdity. So you decide to trust him.

And remember, the life isn’t perfect, it’s just better…somehow. It’s even possible that your life will end up being the exact same as your current one, except you have a better attitude about all the bad, depressing bullshit you have to deal with.

Another consideration: What if the man came up to you and handed you a lifetime pass to visit a five-star Caribbean resort for free? Would you take the passes, pack up and leave your life wherever in order to spend the rest of it in some impossible resort town? Are you more or less likely to take the dream pill as you are to take the dream vacation? Is there a difference?

There isn’t. Escapism is a ubiquitous feature of human culture. We have told stories, sang and danced about all the various things that allow us to forget that we are shivering in some dank cave or starving in a depressing industrial city since the beginning of time. Now we go to the movies, eat at immaculate restaurants and while away precious hours of our lives at artificial, trumped up vacation resorts. Some of us, upon whom many look with pity and contempt, turn to illicit drugs to escape life for a few beautiful moments.

But what is the difference? What really distinguishes the pleasure we feel in a dream from what we feel in a drug-induced haze from what we feel while sipping a mixed beverage while sitting on a man-made beach? All of those experiences are fake in some way. But is the happiness we derive from them equal?

“No thank you,” you say after studying your shoelaces for the longest time.

The stranger is unfazed. His bouncing continues and his cane keeps twirling as he walks away from you.

“No worries.” But he stops and turns around. “You know, last time I saw you, you weren't so reluctant to take the pill.” He starts walking back towards the crowded street.

Your eyes lock onto the pavement and well with tears as your stomach careens around your gut and ends up twisted into a Gordian-like knot. You missed your chance. You totally screwed up.

“Wait!” you yell out. But he’s already far down the street, about to merge into a big crowd.

“Relax. I’m just messing with you,” he calls from over his shoulder.

The last words you strain to hear him say are the ones he mutters under his breath. “I hope.”