This passage from Ian McEwan’s Lessons perfectly conveys a certain relationship to desire prevalent in late capitalism. A sense of completion as something that will eventually happen to us, something we will be ushered into, a welcome invitation that will eventually be issued if only we wait long enough:
The episode, a taste of unreal freedom, had lasted eight days. It sustained him at boarding school, it shaped his restlessness and unfocussed ambitions in his twenties and strengthened his resistance to a regular job. It became a hindrance – whatever he was doing, he was pursued by an idea of a greater freedom elsewhere, some emancipated life just beyond reach, one that would be denied him if he made unbreakable commitments. He missed many chances that way and submitted to periods of prolonged boredom. He was waiting for existence to part like a curtain, for a hand to extend and help him step through into a paradise regained. There his purpose, his delight in friendship and community and the thrill of the unexpected would be bound and resolved. Because he failed to understand or define these expectations until after they had faded in later life, he was vulnerable to their appeal. He did not know what – in the real world – he was waiting for.
It's funny how the night moves.
Humming a song from 1962.
We were always waiting... always waiting.
We were always waiting for something to happen.
Mark Carrigan 