Skip to main content

Word of the Day: DISILLUSIONMENT

Every time I begin to think that I have grown sufficiently cynical and jaded to prevent any further heartbreak caused from the clash of high ideals with harsh reality, something invariably happens to prove me yet a romantic, quixotic fool with no real concept of life. At times like this I feel like disillusionment is to be my lot in life. I am fated to be continually disappointed by the world because I seem incapable of lowering my expectations.

I feel like I always look for the best in people and give them the benefit of the doubt. The problem with people is that when you extend that much confidence and trust to everybody, you are bound to be let down very often. Perhaps I'm shallow, but I always assume that people are being genuine with me and that what they are saying is what they really think. I must be arrogant, too, because I can't fathom anybody disliking or disrespecting me. It really boils down to an incredulity that anybody, especially people I barely know at all, would waste that much energy on me of all people!

And actors are the worst, it seems. Perhaps it should not come as a surprise that people skilled in being something they are not turn out to often be disingenuous. Not to mention petty, self-absorbed, hyper-critical, gossipy, and false - so very very false. Turns out this is something everybody has known all along about them, and I'm just figuring it out! I know it sounds hokey and bohemian, but I believe in the art of theater and of acting. I believe in the power of it to open minds, touch hearts, inspire, teach, and question. And I want to respect anybody who dedicates themselves to this art, because it is not easy. I want to respect them as fellow artists and rejoice in their success. I achieve this goal only part of the time, I mean I'm not perfect by any means, but I certainly hope I never give in to criticism to the point of undermining and disrespecting a fellow actor.

When I discover that many people I had worked with and known and befriended are not exactly what they seem, its enough to make me question the entire world of theater to which I plan to dedicate my life. Is this what everybody in this business is like? Is this what I'm going to have to deal with? Furthermore, am I, for all my self-righteous idealistic pratter, just the same? Don't I criticize, don't I gossip, aren't I the master of lies? Is theater really what I thought it was, or is it just a glorified ego-boost, a constant game of who gets the limelight, who gets the applause, who knows who and who's the best? And if thats all it really is at the core of it, is it really what I want to spend my life doing? And lets forget about theater for a moment – this is bigger than just this one slice of life. Isn't this how everybody really is? Don't people thrive in this world only by stepping on each other? Don't we live in an age where the economy and politics practically require this? There is no where I can go, nothing I can do where I will not have to face the fact that people, all of us, are cruel and stupid.

This kind of depression often follows my disillusionment. It is an incredibly personal sting, and I feel cut to the very quick. I question who to trust, and what to believe in. I wonder if happiness is an illusion. It is a period of time when nihilism, in all its seductive nothingness, dangles enticingly before my face as if to say, “Come on... Nothing is worth this. Nothing means anything, and everything you believed in was simply a delusion. Join me and expect nothing and you'll never be let down again. Not by your friends and loved ones. Not by yourself. Not by God. Not by anyone.”

But I don't listen. I can't. There is something inside of me, even in the dark times, that glows bright and hot and can't ever be put out no matter how many times my hopes are shattered. It is fed by the good that I have seen people do, by the power I have felt in art as a reflection of humanity, and by the unmistakable faith I possess that we are all connected, that we are all one. When I remember this light, I remember the madness in sanity, in seeing life only as it is and not as it could and should be. I rally once again my idealism around me as a buffer, as a beacon. People will always betray me, I know; and, more terrible still, I too will betray others. But I will love them and myself anyway. I will love us for what we could be, and not just for what we are. And I will not stop loving for fear of pain.

I know that this only means more inevitable disillusionment, disappointment, and depression. I know I will face this pain again, but I do not mind. I thank God for it, and I would not give it up for all the joy in the world. It is only through such pain, I think, that we can take this world of iron and make a world of gold...

Comments

Matt Haws said…
Upon reflection, I suppose I could have called this post "Word of the Day: DRAMATIC!"
Unknown said…
Wow! I hope this entry isn't a reaction to something big and specific that happened. If so, I hope it's all better now. If not, well, I hope it's all better now. Life kinda sucks and I think that's why it's so good. It makes the good times worth having.

And there are people out there who are genuine.
Anonymous said…
And I think you do know a few of those genuine people, at least. Never doubt yourself either, Matt. Because if you doubt yourself, the rest of the world goes with it... and thats an awful lot to go. Say Jay
topher clark said…
After our conversation today I came to my office and read this. I LOVED IT. Of course, I could be really phony right now. But I think you know me well enough to discern my compliments. Everything from our little conversation today is all right here. And I want to continue the dialogue.
voyageuse said…
Boy do I know how you feel. Nice articulation of such feelings. And I agree, we have to keep in mind those ideals, or how will we ever have hope that theatre, or society, or whatever can change? If we weren't idealistic, life would really boringly kind of suck all the time. Highs and lows are what we learn from, they're how we know we're LIVING.

And Matt, What Happened?!

Popular posts from this blog

The Only Thing We Have to Fear...

It's October, which means not only do I get to start dipping into my nifty fall wardrobe but also that Halloween is upon us. I think its great that we devote specific holidays to various basic emotions of the human psyche. Halloween = fear, Valentine's day = love, Thanksgiving = gratitude, St. Patrick's Day = envy, and Christmas = greed. We're just missing wrath, lust, pride, sloth, gluttony, and inadequecy. Clearly, more holidays are necessary. But that's a subject for another day. We don't want to give Halloween less than its due. Because seriously, how cool is Halloween? Its way off the scale on the cool-o-meter. When else can you see even the most pious and sensible people indulging in a little of the supernatural and occult by dressing up their children as vampires, witches, or ghosts? Well, that's how it was back in my day anyway (which was soooooo long ago), but today kids dress up as Jedi, princesses, Harry Potter, or Spiderman. They are totally miss

I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent...

I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. Though, despite the elaborate disguise Consisting of a single pair of bent, Simple specs, they're not two different guys But only one, still I said what I meant: I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent I guess because one of them's more like me And does not always get what he wants And struggles with our vulnerability. And does not by his perfection command The adoration of every woman and man But sits in the back, with nothing to say Just hoping that Lois Lane looks his way. She doesn't - her eyes are glued to the sky. Wake up, Lois! Can't you see the guy Waiting to love you with all of his might? He may not leap buildings, he may not fly, He may not see through you with x-ray eyes, He might need YOUR help, if that's alright, From time to time, when his mortal heart cries. He combs his hair neatly and fights through the crowd, Decides what to say, and rehearses out loud, He summons his

God Bless Us, Every One

Call me a Scrooge, but I've found that the last couple of years Christmas just hasn't carried the same sense of wonder and excitement it once did. When I was a kid, I was ready to pee my pants every day in December just thinking about the twenty-fifth, which crept closer so slowly that the month was always filled with blissfully tortuous anticipation. The sense of suspense, the agony of not knowing what the fantastically wrapped boxes contained, was only heightened by the lights, the music, the snow, and everything you knew meant it was Christmas time. Back then, my heart's desires cost about twenty bucks and, tragically, seemed both completely unobtainable and the key to my whole life's happiness. This was the season, then, when miracles of a very practical kind could happen; objects only admired on the shelf, or at a friend's, or in some abstract sense of obsession could literally become my own and wind up, eventually, in pieces somewhere in my closet. I like to c