Uncertainty

Hello there.

Today's blog was going to be about hip-hop music and women but for some reason, as the rain drizzles off my dusty ledges and I sip on coffee bought for me by an abandoning lover, I have no choice but to change my tune and speak on something entirely different.

Today's blog is about life.

As I get older, I can't help but question the meaning of my existence. Each and every day, I wake out of my bed, stubble blindly through my apartment with sleep in my eyes, sit on the toilet and look into the mirror. And when I look at my bearded face I realize I don't recognize myself at all. Who am I? And why do I exist? And why don't I know the answers to the most basic questions of self?

For far too long I've plowed ahead in life with the expectation that life would reward me for simply trying my best to make sense of it. I went to school. I have jobs. I have friends. I have objects. I create art. I remain bitterly opposed to all temptations to give it up, to join the corporate world, to seek a lasting partner and allow anything to deter me from what I want to do NOW. And in doing all this, by remaining staunchly individualistic, I figured a path would eventually form that I could just follow until true purpose was found. Or at the very least, an identity would materialize that I could feel proud of possessing.

But it hasn't. And with each passing day I wonder if somewhere in the tumble of life, I missed something critical because I've spent the whole of my twenties running head first into life, never asking questions, only doing the work that sat in front of me or idly partying away the nights with friends and lovers, saving the real questions for another time.

But increasingly, I wonder if the concept of tomorrow is only an excuse for not dealing with the problems of today. Without trying to seem morbid, tomorrow may never come. And unless one believes in the concept of heaven or reincarnation, there will never be another time to deal with these questions. And even if a heaven exists or the chance to see the world through a new set of eyes is possible, I will never have the opportunity to think THESE thoughts or see the world through THESE eyes again. I exist now and for a limited time only.

So if NOW is the only time we have, then why do we waste it? Or more accurately, because I don't know you or your problems, why do I waste it?

I was reading Chuck Palahniuk's PYGMY, a novel about a young terrorist infiltrating an American family in order to take down the government. As a story, it's only just OK. The narrative, told in broken English from the terrorists perspective, is kinda grating and the story itself is pretty basic and unoriginal. But one thing that did strike me was how the protagonist describes our freedom here in North America. He says:

"Making all effort resist absorption into American cult of the individual, traditional method entrenched oligarchy so maintain own power: Fracture citizen isolated into different religion, different race, different family. Label as rich culture diversity. Cleave as unique until each citizen stand alone. Until each vote invested no value. Single citizen celebrated as special-in actual, remaining no power."

In this statement, that our individuality is merely a way to separate us, to take away our power of community, I see a truth about myself. I have always maintained that I am unique and my story is special. That outside of my own story exists nothing. I am the protagonist, and my personal happiness and discovery is all that matters.

And this is how I have lived. And why shouldn't I? That is the freedom of our world. The freedom to make choices. The freedom to pursue whatever it is we wish.

But what should we pursue exactly? It seems like all we have to look forward to is more money, more objects, more excess. These things cannot enrich our souls, they simply contain the power to distract. And the things that are pure: Love, relationship, philosophy, morality, faith, these things are intangible and created solely in the voids of our minds. They exist only in theory and can be of no use in a society of price tags. We can feel them and they are real, but they are as fleeting as melting snow.

I'm not saying they are purposeless, I am saying that they are not physical and it's the physical and tangible that are society covets. I'm not saying that I don't believe in them; quite the contrary, I believe in them very much. As I've said in previous blogs, I believe Love is the most powerful force in the world. But Love requires a give and take, and needs two or more people to power it into existence. To love unconditionally with no return is to let this ever moving world get ahead of you while you remain stuck in place. To love is to make yourself vulnerable when wolves are always at the gates ready to prey. And in a world of shifting allegiance, of individuality and Capital, where everyone is made to believe their story to be the most important, how can two people find a common ground in which to facilitate love when our focus is solely on ourselves? Why should we compromise our wants when another lover is around the corner, when opportunities are endless, when our media saturated minds treat everything like a new product waiting to be bought? And why should we love aloud when others will take without giving back?

Simply put, I no longer know what is truly worth racing towards. I can no longer distinguish the difference between doing nothing and doing something when I don't know what it is I require to bring about personal satisfaction. No one respects philosophers because they sit around all day lost in thought when action could be taken. And those of action can get ahead and achieve the world, but when they sit alone with their accomplishments and wealth they can never find true contentment when there is always more to be gained. Because nothing is ever good enough; there is always more bounty waiting to be plundered.

So where to go? I've been making theatre for over ten years. It has been my life's work. But I wonder what motivates this work. If it is a true desire to express myself, to evoke thought and speak on the human condition, why choose a medium that is dying when other more direct mediums exist? And if its to make money and a career, why choose an art notorious for impoverishing its creators? And if its to feel important, why does each show close with me sitting at home wondering who I am and why I do it in the first place?

Love is grand but it doesn't pay the bills. Neither does theatre. Neither does blogging.

But this is who I am. This is what I believe. This is what I do. And I, for the life of me, can't figure out why that is.

The rain outside is clearing and the sun breaks through the clouds for the first time. As I sit alone at my computer, thoughts racing around the room like a runaway horse, I contemplate all that I am and where it is I must go next. With no one to hold, no path to walk and no God to guide me, I realize this is my trouble and my trouble alone. We are individuals, all unique as blades of grass, no two are the same. And that is where they get us. Maybe if we joined hands and walked together we could forge something new, discover something better, and figure out why we are here in the first place. But for now, I am an individual and so very, very confused.

"When I became a man, I put away childish things"

Corinthians

Thanks for reading.

That blogging bastard