Outside, Looking In

I was given a script to read, a part to play. I read my script and played my part, and I did so with true intent. Simply excited to be on stage, I gave no thought to the content or quality of my script. I was a part of something, a grand play. My friends and I all defined ourselves around our acting, often staying late under the guise of improving our acting, but really we just fed each other meaningless compliments. In truth, our acting was terrible, but nobody cared enough to tell us, or perhaps they simply didn’t notice.

Deep into a rehearsal session one day, something happened. I faltered, and could not find the words. I knew the words, I had said them a hundred times before, but for some reason they simply would not come. I stumbled and stammered through, mortified beyond belief at my failure. I expected to be either mocked or chastised, but to my surprise it was as though nothing had happened. The others cheerily patted me on the back, the director chimed in with his usual uplifting comments. It was then that I noticed how fake everyone was, how hollow the whole ordeal felt.

I started to become bored with the play we had been working on for so long. I began dropping lines out of my dialog, to see if anyone would notice. Sometimes, I would arrive at the start of rehearsal, then sneak out to the parking lot to sit in my car and listen to the radio. I would return before the end, and if anyone noticed, they never said anything.

One day, the director called me aside to inform me I was being recast. Starting next week, I would be playing the lead. THE lead. Suddenly my passion was renewed. I instantly forgot my distaste for the material, because after all, now it was all about ME! My eyes filled with stardom, I worked harder and longer than I ever had before. I honed my craft, my part became my life. Then something happened that would change everything.

I saw a play.

I know, it sounds crazy that I spent so much time on this project without actually doing any actual research, right? Well, that’s what I figured, so I decided to go out and actually see a play. What I experienced was shocking to me.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The characters felt real, the story was enthralling, and most of all, it actually made me feel something. It made the play I was working on look like the scrawls of some halfwit with a fountain pen full of feces. I began to see more plays, some good, some bad, but all were better than that awful festering mold on the nipples of good taste that we had the poor sense to commit a crime against humanity by calling it a play.

Yet I still felt an obligation to participate in it. Maybe out of some sort of sense of duty, maybe because these people were my friends, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. I did my best to try to elevate it, but I simply felt foolish. I sleepwalked through most of the rehearsals, and left as early as I could. Whenever I was there, I wasn’t actually there. My mind wandered, to more interesting places, more compelling subjects, and sometimes I would read my mail-order scripts during times when I was supposed to be studying my lines.

The big day finally came, opening night. I looked around, surrounded by plastic smiles and propped up bravado. The curtain rose, and I looked out over the audience. I realized how incredibly silly I must look, associating myself with these mannequins and spouting this worthless tripe.

I was given a script to read, and a part to play.

Breathlessly, I stepped forward. The other actors waited in their states of mock euphoria for me to start the show, the audience politely and silently held their applause. I stood straight and tall, in this moment of frozen time, and they regarded me with slight anticipation. In that very moment, I clicked my feet together, lowered my chest in a tremendous bow, and exited the stage, never to return.

The Great Search

I went up the mountain to see the three wise men. For three days I climbed, and when I reached the top, I was told I could only see one.

I saw the first wise man, and I asked him, "where did we come from? Where are we going? Why do we care?"

The first wise man, for three days, led me back down the mountain, filling my head with sweet nothings. Unsatisfied with my answer, I once again went up the mountain. This time, I saw the second wise man.

I asked the second wise man, "Why are we here? Where are we going? Why do we want to go there?"

The second wise man simply handed me a flower, and said, "This is the answer to all your questions. Take it, and cherish it forever."

I placed the flower in my pack, and spent three days hiking back down the mountain. When I reached the bottom, I found the flower had withered and died. Again, for three days, I hiked back up the mountain to see the second wise man.

"You came to me seeking answers, and I gave you what I had," the wise man replied to my outbursts. "That you wasted my ephemeral gift is your own fault." And with that, he sent me back down the mountain.

I climbed the mountain one final time, to see the final wise man. I stormed into the third wise man's chamber, and shouted, "Listen! I've come to find the answer to the question of my existence. I've been up and down this mountain seven times, and spent 21 days climbing. I don't want meaningless warm fuzzies, and I don't want cryptic puzzles. Just, please, answer my question. How should I live my life?"

The third wise man leaned in close, and softly said to me, "Stop climbing mountains, you fuckwit."


ADDENDUM:

The Test

You find yourself sitting in a room. You have no idea where you are, or how you got there. You are sitting in a lightweight metal chair, with one of those tiny swivel-up desks attached to it. The lights are bright, but flat, and the air is stale. You look around. The walls are a flat, patently inoffensive gray color. Slowly you come to realize you are in a classroom, and a test is being administered.

The person next to you looks up from their hasty scribbling, and notices your confusion. She directs you to the front of the classroom, where the tests are being handed out. You walk up, and find an extraordinarily long table, with hundreds of stacks of paper, laid out in a line. You pick up a packet from the first stack. Someone behind you pipes up, “no, wait, that’s the wrong one.” You are embarrassed, because you can’t even remember signing up for this class, or really anything before this point. You ask which is the right one, and it is pointed out for you.

You pick up the new packet and someone to your right snickers. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you’re actually going to take that one?” Apparently you’re having a tough time finding the one meant for you, though you still have no idea why you’re here in the first place. But you take the one you were eyeing anyway, because the first person was so polite, and this second one has done nothing but mock you, so you distrust him.

As you return to your seat your attention is captured by an apparent shouting match at the other end of the table. “You’ve got to be out of your bloody mind!” someone shouts. “This test is so much easier, why the hell would you pick that one?”

“Because this one is the correct one!” the other person shouts. A crowd has gathered around the two people, and through the uproar you can’t make out what they’re saying anymore. Soon the situation turns into an all-out brawl, with the entire group punching and kicking each other. You look around, trying to find some way to call for help, but are shocked to see nobody doing anything, only concentrating on their own tests. Finally a gunshot rings out. You seem to be the only one who notices. The crowd returns to their seats, and the only remaining evidence of any conflict are some scattered papers and a bloody corpse on the floor. Two men enter the room through a door you previously failed to notice, and carry the dead man out through it on a stretcher.

Still not believing what you have just witnessed, you figure it best to just return to your seat and finish your test so you can get out of this crazy mess. The questions are all either common sense easy, ridiculously unknowable, or just plain crazy. You return to the front and flip through some of the other tests, and though the contain different questions, they all follow this pattern.

Finally you guess your way through the entire test, and you turn it in. You return to your seat. As you look around, you realize that several others around you have turned in their sheets as well, so you begin to make small talk to pass the time while they are being graded. Some of the people you meet have been waiting for their results for a very long time. Days, weeks, years, some have even been there for years. You ask if they’ve ever witnessed anyone actually get their results back, and none of them have. You decide there’s no point in potentially waiting decades for the results of test you didn’t even know why you were taking, which would likely never even come. As you make for the door, the other students start laughing at you. “Gonna give up, eh?” “Guess you didn’t have what it takes.” “I feel so sorry for you, to come this close, it truly makes me sad.” You feel bad, so you turn around to walk back, but as you do you once again see the situation as it is. You are in a dull, horrible place, and you just can’t bear the thought of staying here. You ignore the barbs of your classmates, and run through the door, flinging it wide and rushing out.

At first you are blinded. The room was actually fairly well lit, but the clarity of the sunlight outside is staggering. As your eyes adjust, you see beauty unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. The natural world unfolds in front of you, so many colors, and such staggering detail. You just stand there appreciating everything, from the tiniest blade of grass to the tallest redwood. You think to yourself, “I could stay here forever.” Suddenly you think of the people you left inside, the ones you got to know, the ones you could have called friends. You rush in, and you tell them about all the amazing things right outside the door. You ask them to come with you, if only just to see. They tell you they can’t come, if they leave, they forfeit their right to the rewards of passing the test. You beg with, you plead with them, until they ask you to stop. You shuffle back out toward the door. As you leave, you notice that everyone seems to be regarding you with scorn. One of them says to you, “you know, if you apologize, they might let you retake the test.” You reply you have no interest in taking part in this futile activity. They reply that on some level you must, because after all, you did come back. You curse this person under your breath and leave.

At first it’s difficult to leave behind the people who you care about. You come back a few times to see if maybe they’ve changed their minds, but eventually you come to accept that they never will. You make new friends on the outside who you can truly share yourself with, but you still make sure to visit the old ones who are still trapped inside that expansive room. When you do visit, you mostly make small talk. You tell them what’s been going on in your life. But sometimes, very occasionally, you still show them pictures of the outside world. Just to give them a taste of what they’re missing and hoping they’ll still come around. You don’t ever press the point anymore though. Occasionally they still ask you to think about retaking the test, but you politely refuse, saying you’re done with that. And then you leave them in their state of suspended animation, desperately waiting for nothing, clinging to the hope that something will come of all the time and effort that they’ve put into it. And every time you see them in this state it kills you inside just a little bit. And there’s nothing you can do, except continue to live your life the best way you can.