2300 B.C., Sargon the Great launched a campaign of military conquest that united all of Mesopotamia. In the cradle of civilization, the fertile "land between the two rivers," the first military dictator rose. Since humans first organized into the most basic of civilizations, a single steady constant has existed to this day; war. From the first primal clashing to the present, the world has been in a perpetual state of war. Whether it be civil unrest in a country you didn’t even know existed, or the grand theater of World War II, man never ceases spilling his brother’s blood. Though few argue against the atrocity of war, even fewer believe that true peace is attainable.

“Why can’t we all just get along?” Begs the blind optimist.  

“War is in your blood, flooding your veins!” replies history.

War is deeply tragic. Sadly, until the Sun ceases to rise and set, war will exist, just as it has for millennia. How do you think the countries of today will react when their fossil fuels run dry? When their people are starving? When they realize that wealth is lovely, but you can’t eat money? The same way humans have for countless years; with sticks and stones, not open arms and minds.

Humans are likely the most sociable animals that have ever been, and will ever be. Together, we live in general peace; eating, living, working; hell, some people even choose to sleep in the same bed. Not because they have a lack of space, a lack of beds, or arctic conditions to endure, but because they choose to. Because the idea of laying comatose alone, for just a moment, is too daunting to swallow, too appalling to even consider. Whether you want to admit it or not, we need, nay, crave each other desperately. Perhaps this peculiar behavior stemmed from a Darwinist process, a slowly acquired understanding that unity equals strength. Or perhaps there lies deep mystical connection between us kindred spirits, some God, some energy, some indescribable force that brings us together, that makes us want to unite.

Despite what you believe, in others, we see ourselves. In their words, in their expressions, in their gasping laughs, in their charming smiles, in their quivering terror, in their delightful anecdotes, we catch glimpses, shadows, silhouettes of ourselves. We try desperately to connect, to grasp life from different hands, to see through infant eyes once more. But what is it all for? Humans need each other so fiercely that isolation drives most to madness, if not a swaying noose.  Perhaps we connect selfishly in a panicked whimper, frantically trying to convince ourselves that the Earth is not a cold dead place. That life is not meaningless and we won’t depart as we entered; alone, bloodied, wailing.

Perhaps this is so. And perhaps, it’s absolutely wrong.

At our school, one hears much talking. Much of it useless, trite garbage that really shouldn't don on anyone's ears. But below the petty foolishness and sickening gossip, one can hear an echo, a tone which tastes the tip of every word spoken; fear. In this time of transition, it seems that students fear for many things: transition, the future, independence, financials. However, no matter what one's specific fear might be, there is a unifying theme, a common angst; fear of the uncertain. Despite how good one's plans might be, despite a high GPA, despite how many letters are stitched in one's jacket, everyone is terrified of uncertainty. For some, they are most terrified of not knowing what they want to do. For others, they're simply worried that they'll be able to afford college. 

It's most frightening, to me at least, that I won't ever know what I truly desire. What do I want to do with my life? Is college the right choice? Is there any other option in today's world? Is there something magnificent I should be doing instead of participating in the standard high school, college, job, then family cookie cutter life? I fear most that no matter what I do, there is some ideal opportunity, some perfect place or experience that I just missed, a wrong turn taken, happiness so fleeting. And the worst part is, no matter what choice I make, there will always be a yearning, eating voice  lying in the back of my head, reminding me that I'm making the wrong choice, that I was so close and still so far away. 

Mr. Lockwood experiences uncertainty himself. He claims to moved to the middle of nowhere in pursuit of sweet isolation, yet where do we find him? Constantly trying to socialize, to make a human connection. He even trodded through blizzard conditions for a hot cup of tea and a cold scowl. 

Even this fictional character is experiencing a personal fissure, the heart and head splitting at the seams. Even he has his own yearning voice, pushing towards some imaginary agenda, some ideal place lead to mystically. Will anyone really ever know if they're in the right place, doing the right thing? Or are we always a step behind some cosmic plan, never quite feeling in the right place?