Exile

I feel like I am a character in an absurdist drama.  Most pursuits seem meaninglessness. Futile.

The juxtaposition and convergence of recent events have left me to  re-examine the narrative of my life.
We are all protagonists in our own dramas fighting against the forces that shape us. Our motivations come from different places, deeply rooted in childhood mythology, lies couched in promises, and expectations reared within the context of an American dream now defunct.

As a theatre director, the most interesting of all character conflicts to me is the inner-conflict.
Self vs. Self
 We are all struggling with our own inner selves and that struggle propels us to do the most remarkable things - both positive and negative.
The important thing is to recognize the conflict and to wrestle with it consciously.

When we refuse to look at the truth about ourselves at every level, we make choices that are not rooted in honesty but rather in denial. From benign and insignificant to profound and deadly, our denial blinds us in a way that affects not only ourselves, but our loved ones, community, and the world.

 I have come to believe that the most important thing we can do in our lives is to (as some philosopher or theologian said)  take a long, hard, look at the real and tell ourselves the truth. The ramifications may on the surface seem unthinkable and shattering.  But in the end, the emergence of the truth has the potential to  makes us whole.

In my own case, it seems as if I have been in pursuit of something unattainable since the day my father died in 1981.
The illusive, child-like notion - that someone will come to the rescue.

Someone out there surely is going to
invest
rent
offer
hire
resuscitate
rehabilitate
save
give
understand

Surely
Joanne won't be locked in
incapacitated
mute

Surely
we won't lose our home

Surely
Steve's business will take off

Surely
Norma won't die

Surely
the gods of the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to steal Ken away from Sophia and their ten- month old baby on a beautiful Saturday afternoon bike ride on PCH

Surely
the coroner  wouldn't be so heartless as to leave her card on Sophia's door saying "Call ASAP"

Surely
I will get to go home and live in my house in Naples and sleep in my own bed

Surely
There will be a happy ending

This denial has rendered me dependent and has kept me in a perpetual state of anxiety about the future.

I know there are those who would point the way to faith in God as the solution.  Life is transitory. Death is certain. Carpe Diem.

But sometimes, it feels like Beckett got it right.
Or
Camus.

I understand how drama reflects circumstance and how context forges style.
I understand that on the continuum faith is at one end and absurdism at the other.

Delusion and Denial cloud the truth and today I believe that stripping away false belief and looking at the harsh realities of it all is the only way to rescue yourself.
Whatever that means.