I've been thinking about my part lately, the role that I am playing. Is there a rule book somewhere that I am supposed to adhere too? Will fulfilling others expectations make them more comfortable with themselves or is it simply the thought that I am not doing what they believe is right? I have abandoned their level of control.
At times I feel as if I am moving through my day, checking of a list, sticking to the script. Sticking to the status quo allows me to be at ease with everyone else. Wars are not created and egos are not damaged when I do what I am told.
It is now; a moment in my life where I am filling the spaces in between with dreams that I never bargained for, that my happiness can only be determined by me. The needs of others, those that I greatly love, I am hurting because I can not consider them more. It is not that I am selfish, I simply lack the capacity. I am currently filling my own void.
Today I was reminded of Jacques; the philosopher in Shakespeare's "As You Like It". Jacques is on a on quest to understand his identity and the players at his side. He sees the world as a stage where all the characters must perform. The story unfolds as he questions his own legitimacy: Was each character's dialog written before the play took shape?
In much more simple terms, my girlfriend Catherine likes to ask "So, who's driving the bus today?".
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."