"Brooks Was Here": The Existential Crisis Hidden Inside The Shawshank Redemption

“Sometimes, all you need to do is be present—even if your presence doesn’t mean anything.”

These were the words of a schoolteacher taking attendance, trying to remind a student that simply showing up has value. But the student, Zein, wasn’t convinced.

“What’s the point of being present,” he asked, “if I don’t feel it?”

That question may sound dramatic in a classroom, but it echoes something deeper—something disturbingly real. It’s the same question that haunted Brooks, the old man in The Shawshank Redemption who, after 50 years in prison, was finally set free.

Freedom: A Blessing or a Burden?

In the 1994 film, The Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne digs his way to freedom over 19 years. It’s a story of hope and resilience. But Brooks’ story—the quiet tragedy running in parallel—is arguably the most human part of the film.

Brooks wasn’t trying to escape. He was released. After 50 years in Shawshank, he was finally free. And it destroyed him.

Out in the real world, everything had changed. Cars were faster. Streets were louder. People moved on. The world he once knew was gone. He was overwhelmed by freedom—not because he didn’t appreciate it, but because he didn’t know how to handle it.

“The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.”

Even the simple job of bagging groceries felt like a mountain to climb. And then, one day, he ended it all. He carved four words into the wood above his bed:

“Brooks was here.”

The Real Prison: Existential Anxiety

What killed Brooks wasn’t the outside world. It wasn’t fear of crime or loneliness.

It was existential anxiety—a state in which a person questions the very meaning of their existence. Not because of trauma, but because they suddenly see the world for what it is: chaotic, vast, and often, utterly meaningless.

Brooks had spent half a century being told when to eat, sleep, and work. In prison, he mattered. Outside, he was just a name. And that’s where existentialist philosophers come in.

Sartre: Existence Before Essence

“Existence precedes essence.” – Jean-Paul Sartre

Sartre believed we are not born with a preset meaning or purpose. We exist first—and then define ourselves through our choices and actions.

For Brooks, that freedom was unbearable. He didn’t know how to define himself without someone else doing it for him.

Camus: Imagine Sisyphus Happy

Albert Camus saw life as absurd. In The Myth of Sisyphus, he compares human life to a man endlessly pushing a boulder uphill, only for it to roll down again.

But Camus offers a powerful idea:

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

To keep going despite the absurdity is an act of rebellion—and of courage. That’s what Brooks couldn’t manage to do.

Nietzsche: God Is Dead

Friedrich Nietzsche declared:

“God is dead. And we have killed him.”

This wasn’t atheism—it was a warning. Without belief systems and absolute truths, the world loses its structure. Like Brooks, many of us struggle when the old systems vanish and nothing replaces them.

Kierkegaard: The Leap of Faith

Unlike the others, Søren Kierkegaard believed the answer was not in reason or rebellion, but in faith.

When the world makes no sense, we can still choose to believe. Faith, to Kierkegaard, was not blind—it was an act of courage.

Brooks Was All of Us

At some point, we all face a Brooks moment—when the life we knew disappears, and we must start over. What do we do then?

• Do we collapse under the weight of freedom?
• Do we redefine our meaning?
• Do we make the leap of faith?

Perhaps the question isn’t: “What’s the meaning of life?”

But rather: “What meaning will I give my life?”

In the End

Existentialist philosophy doesn’t give us answers—it gives us better questions.

The next time you feel lost or anxious, remember:

• Sartre: You are free—create your essence.
• Camus: Find joy in the struggle.
• Nietzsche: Be your own source of values.
• Kierkegaard: Take a leap—believe in something.

And maybe, when you write your name one day, it won’t just say:

“I was here.”

But instead:

“I lived.”

If this post made you think, share it with someone who’s ever asked: “Why am I here?”