Synthetic Souls
By: Grant Patterson
I looked up the definition of the word “synthetic” on Google. There’s the noun version, a synthetic material. As an adjective though, it describes “a substance made by a chemical synthesis, especially to imitate a natural product.” Google defines the word “soul” as the “spiritual or immaterial part of a human or animal and is regarded as immortal.”
These definitions seem to not mix to me. If our soul is immaterial, how can it be an imitation? Wouldn’t the soul we get always have to be a natural product? Wouldn’t the idea then be to get the most natural version of our own soul? Then that would lead me to the question of what our most natural soul is?
I feel many would say that it’s our innocent, childish soul. The soul that wasn’t yet burdened by the blemishes of the world. The soul that hasn’t been insulted, doubted, or even encouraged. Is that our most natural soul? The soul we didn’t choose nor understand. I’m not too sure.
I’d argue as a child is when I did the most imitating. I imitated what I saw my mother, father, sister, teachers, and coaches doing. My soul had a direction, and it wasn’t a direction of my choosing. It was chosen for me. Throughout my childhood I felt like I was compromising my soul for approval. For the A, adoration, or even for an “atta boy,” my direction was up for debate. And I didn’t have enough source material to win.
This feeling of lacking soul became readily apparent to me my junior year of college. Football was over, all I had left were the lingering injuries. I was in Lubbock, Texas, majoring in business management, trying to start a business, going to church on Sundays, and miserable. My soul felt like it wasn’t my own. It was scattered around the different decision makers in my life like Horcruxes. My parents each had one, my family had one, church had one, school had one, dating apps had one, money had one. I didn’t know what to do.
Like in the last two Harry Potter movies, Horcruxes are very difficult to find. Some can be readily apparent to us. Some may be people. Some may be “valuable” possessions. Some may be ourselves. Some will take the love of friends and family to figure out, while others must be found on our own. Regardless, it’ll take searching either internally or externally to find them.
I remember the day I began to recover my soul. A Latino preacher of the church I attended gave a sermon about how Donald Trump was the Christian choice for president. His reasoning was the evil Hillary Clinton wanted to let in refugees who would degrade the soul of Christian America. I walked out of service that day certain that that wasn’t the church for me. One Horcrux was found and destroyed.
During this time, I called my mom and told her I was having mental health issues and although my GPA was good, school wasn’t working for me. My mother was surprisingly supportive. She wasn’t someone I ever went to for personal issues. But in this situation, she was extremely helpful. She told me if I had to leave, then to leave with good grades so I could go back. Another Horcrux down.
The rest of the semester I prepared to make a change. I didn’t know what, but I knew I wanted something different. I spent a little less time with my friends who were heading in different directions. I was tired of striving for parties, women, and money. Well, perhaps parties and money. I was still focused on the women. When the semester ended and boundaries had been created, one more Horcrux was discovered. Not destroyed, because relationships don’t work that way, but at least identified.
During the summer my friend invited me and some friends to her chalet in Breckenridge for July 4th. The 5 of us drove 15 hours into the mountains, and it was exactly what I needed. We biked, hiked, smoked weed, ran, and just hung out over 9,000 ft. One morning I ran up a hill outside of her cabin and looked out at the scenery. It was where I was supposed to be.
The mist, animals, dew in the grass, other fellow runners, thin air, and the smell of pine needles was all perfect. My soul felt more intact than ever. Laughing with friends in the mountains was exactly what my young synthetic soul needed. As we drove back to Texas, I was sad. I was leaving where I was supposed to be.
As soon as I got back, I told a friend and my sister that I would probably be moving to Colorado. For the next four weeks I worked two jobs, sold weed brownies, sold as much of my stuff as possible, and sold as much of my plasma as possible as well. I also went to my sister’s surprise wedding in Philadelphia. The hardest part was finding an apartment in my future home, Fort Collins, Colorado. One that would accept a degreeless, jobless, Black kid from Texas who needed a break.
As I made the 13-hour drive to Fort Collins from Lubbock in my packed Ford Expedition, I cried. My parents in no way supported the decision and couldn’t have been more disappointed. I’d never seen the apartment I was moving into, nor met the roommates. I had enough money to realistically last me six weeks and no job prospects. I’d taken an Adderall to make sure I didn’t fall asleep on the way, but it made me extremely emotional.
As I turned onto Highway 25 headed north, I saw the mountains and the tears kept flowing. I was scared, excited, and highly optimistic. As I wiped the tears from my face and ate some fake McDonald’s, my soul felt more natural than ever.