Espejito, espejito...

El otro día volví a ver Fight Club. Y creo que algunos de los diálogos de Tyler Durden me retumbaron más que nunca porque no es lo mismo haberla visto a poco de iniciada una vida laboral que más de diez años después. Pero, además, me hizo preguntarme seriamente, de manifestar yo otra personalidad... ¿qué me mostraría?, ¿qué carácter tendría?, ¿qué sacaría a flote?, ¿qué me echaría en cara? Pffff. Preguntas nada sencillas de responder. Respuestas, quizás, no tan agradables y sencillas de asimilar. 

Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

You are not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis.

The things you own, end up owning you.