Power

Today, in lieu of reading my much needed, but rather tedious summer reading, I watched two powerful movies about power figures. The first was the great "Citizen Kane", often lauded as the best movie made. The other was "The Lion in Winter." The former was a story of a man's life, his ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies, loves and losses set in the early 20th century. The latter was about a few days spent by King Henry II over Christmas during which his three sons fought for the right to be his successor. The interesting thing about both movies is that the main characters were, more often than not, miserable. Kane was a sort of "materialist" but, ironically, it was not for riches but approval that he lusted after. Henry II deals with his ever increasing age and the realization that none of his heirs is worthy, all the while plotting, scheming, and enduring barbs by the wife he had forsaken and locked away for years. The irony is that his three sons intensely desire to be King, when it's obvious it's more of a burden than a boon.

Now, this leads to a few interesting points. One is that to be called truly great, something must be powerful, moving, and there has to be conflict of dramatic proportions. Another is that even the great achievers, men looked up to, written in the history books, remembered for accomplishments the masses could never dream of suffered the entire time. Of course, both are fiction, both were manipulated stories to make the viewer intrigued and draw them inside the plot, and both cannot be taken as accurate representations of reality. Still, there's a great deal of truth to their points; "story truth", I suppose O'Brien would call it. Look at Mark Twain. A great man, a pioneer in American satire and literature, took on all institutions and went back for more. But was he ever content? Was he ever happy? Did that happiness last? If his last works are any indication, he possessed a rather bleak mindset. He had little hope for the present, future, or past. This is at once a lesson in the "benefits" of cynicism and the futility of perceived success.

(Cont. Sunday since I was kicked off on Saturday night)

So now I arrive at the same impasse I'm constantly plagued with. It would appear that I will be presented with three options: I can kill any irrational dreams I have and essentially be through with life, physically living but mentally dead, resting in a blissful but mundane peace of idle thoughts and resignation until I'm finally whisked away from this temporal existence; I can follow my laughable fool's errand, struggling all the while whether I be doomed to failure or some perverse definition of "success", living to the greatest extent I would theoretically allow myself but in the process suffering defeat after defeat in a long, heartbreaking stream; or I could skip the pleasantries and forgo this charade of experiences. The first is quite appealing as peace and happiness could be considered the one true measure of success, the second has a Romantic charm and is considered the "acceptable" way of attempting to live one's life in the mutual service to self and mankind, and the third is considered repugnant and despicable.

For those who are a tad lost, and I would hope it's all of you, the first choice is simply being content with teaching at a high school or lower tier college where there's little pressure, and I can essentially do whatever I want in a quasi-carefree environment. I'm fairly certain I could obtain peace and some measure of contentment if not even happiness there. The second would be to teach, but to also struggle, most likely in vain, to write something of some measure of entertainment and value to someone. In this route, I would constantly be under pressure to try to improve upon a qualitative skill with millions of competitors and a lottery's chance of becoming "published." My inferiority would constantly be shoved in my face by others or myself and there is a distinct possibility that I would never be able to amount to anything but a perpetual failure. The third is an option I constantly find myself having to reject, for it is the refuge of a tormented soul. It is an option that will fulfill itself eventually regardless of my path, and yet I'm loathe to even consider it for the stigma, pain, and futility of the action itself.

Given those choices, it would seem a rather simple decision to make. The first option practically guarantees a measure of contentment and peace which one of my stressful and self-conscious disposition would greatly value and benefit from. Yet, it would practically constitute spiritual suicide for I would have given up pushing myself and trying to accomplish. I would go through the motions of life with the sole purpose of existing for lack of a viable alternative until it would be acceptable to "shove off this mortal coil." If I killed my spirit, why not take my soul with it? But that too is unconscionable, for even though the pain and suffering would be futile and illogical, it would still exist and the ripple effect would be devastating. The actual act takes an amount of confidence and willpower I doubt I possess, at any rate, but the option constantly resurfaces.

Yet, there are three choices. Why even entertain the second if it is essentially certain to be agony? No one wants to sacrifice their mental health in a failure of no benefit to any entity. But why does anyone try to achieve anything? Deep down, we all know that all accomplishment will be eroded by the sands of time until we cease to exist. I feel the desire to create. I want to effect people the way fiction effects me, for it would seem that only by escaping can I transcend apathy and actually experience some level of meaningful emotion. I want to entertain, to better, to excel in a field of uncertainty so I can say I accomplished something of merit. Something that wasn't certain, that had a visible impact, and that I could, dare I say it, be proud of. A testament to my efforts, an active choice I made, and a goal, nay a dream, I fulfilled. But the actual accomplishment is of little consequence. No, I want to change people. I want to demonstrate diverse ways of looking at life. I want to show how every soul has an impact and meaning, how we have so many flaws we can cure but don't even realize we're inflicted of. But in the process, I would have created an engaging, moving, resonating work of art. Something powerful.

Yet, I still maintain that happiness is the only accurate measure of success. Would I not be a hypocrite if I gave up a chance at such an acme to pursue an uncertain dream, rolling loaded dice? How can I say to pursue happiness when I'm not even doing it myself? As you may have noticed, Nihilism has only corrupted part of me. The other, as demonstrated above, really does care. Romanticism, I suppose you could call it. Thus the problem: I don't care enough to give life meaning, but I do care enough to want to.

It is quite easy to label this is as teenage melodrama. A romanticized struggle over exaggerated issues with deluded results. There is no epic battle here. I can easily choose choice two and not suffer anything, for I would be prepared. Yet, if one's future is degraded to melodrama, what aspect of life isn't melodramatic? What is the point of pursuing a goal if you don't really care if you succeed? If I don't care about this decision, should I care about anything? No, life is as dramatic as you wish it. The question is, do you want to sleep, live, or die? At the moment, I'd rather not die. So I can live or sleep. Perhaps I could pursue option two and not care if I advanced or not, just enjoy the process. But I rather doubt I'd be able to accomplish much if I didn't care about it. I've got time to decide. I just can't wait forever.