Giving up never felt so good, welcome to plan b. Giving up... What is the likelihood life could be so free? - Reese Roper (Five Iron Frenzy)

These words playing over and over in my mind gave me a hint of bitter comfort over the last months and even years as I learned to accept comfort and defeat as parts of my everyday life.
And I think I discovered something over the past few days, while working on a term paper about Aristotelian tragedy and the works of Arthur Miller, I discovered not only was the tragic hero one of the most admired, moving and sought after things in literature, life, love. I mean, even the God man, the center of my faith, could be considered in some regards to be a tragic hero.

So we look at the definition of a tragic hero - a man exists in a high plane of reality, nobility, wealth, character, skill, etc. There is a tragic flaw which brings his downfall, usually a decision, never a vice, that will bring a set of circumstances which leads to a final dramatic and romantic choice that will lead to the altruistic sacrifice of the man in question.

So to recap, high, brought low, hits bottom, the only way out is self-sacrifice for others.

And if we want to make it even better for our hero, we look at Miller's definition of the tragic hero which states that the tragic flaw for any hero is the flaw of not taking the stripping of dignity passively. Like a coyote caught in a trap that simply will not accept it's fate and struggles. Thrashing wildly, and in the end rushes its demise.

Ok, Lemme pause for a minute, this isn't meant to be some dark emo navel-gazing craptastic. Not quite.

Like let's take Willy Loman in Death of a salesman. He tries his best to make a way for his family to live as he sees fit. A nice house, successful sons, a wide spread good reputation. He works hard, but gets crapped on in the end. He refuses to let himself accept failure at this plan and reach out to and fall on people for help, he sees and tries desperately to maintain this precious dignity... in doing so, he starts to see suicide and the subsequent cashing in of a life insurance as a viable solution.

So did willy succeed? Is he a hero? This is actually a point that phiosphers and literati have ben discussing for more than 50 years. Did he fit the criteria? and was Miller right to change the criteria and allow the salvaging of dignity into the ranks of a noble fall.

I Guess solomon had it right, pride comes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. It's almost like he positioned those as conditional statements. Pride and self sufficiency are necessary before a meteoric fall in one's life.

When C.S. Lewis termed this as the root of and greatest of all sins, he saw so much more than most of us can or are willing to see. So when I look at my epic romantic failure as an acceptable plan, am I just masking it as some attempt at holding onto the dignity I once knew as plan A?

But is plan B truly letting go of my flawed plan A? Willy didn't have to die. I guess sometimes american cheese and mortgage payments seem a worse fate than leaving what we truly love behind. Sad how many times I choose to accept the fate of the latter.

Ah, good form, that is all that really matters....fame,o, fame thou glittering bauble.....The words I spoke as hook come back to haunt me years later... but then again...maybe I should go check my carrot seeds....

most prized posession, and the existential blues..

I remember when as a 13 year old boy, when asked what my most prized possession to bring on a desert Island would be, I said my journal. I didn't say why. Even at that point, I had so many things that I regretted having thought and written that I wouldn't want them released to the public, or even worse, those I loved, in my absence.

I wasn't necessarily dreading their reaction upon my return, but mainly my inability to explain some of the more disconcerting things that may have been read. But Mainly, I said it becuase I was new, and I thought that being the cerebral ( yeah... it was the 90s, people still said it...) kid would afford me a new identity. And My long running slavery to the cruel master of identity and to my past commenced.

I've put quite a bit of distance between me and that fateful fall 1999 wednesday night, but in another since, maybe I haven't come all that far.

But in the end, I'm not "Doug" or Don Miller, or that guy from " A Christmas Story" and my life can't be lived in the dramatic romantic, past-tense, omniscient observer perspective. Whatever I do, I can't simply chalk up as a victory to character establishment, plot development or rising or falling drama. It is what it is. I'm a grown up, and with grown up toys come grown up rules.

If life were a TV show, I wouldn't be driving a 93 dodge conversion van.... or would I??? The rebel against the greenies and the hippies? The guy, who for the sake of image, puts on the image of not caring about his image? No. I drive a Blue 93 dodge conversion van. It's paint is falling off, it gets terrible gas mileage, and it's a pain to park. But its reliable, it's comfortable, and it was one of the most generous gifts my parents had ever given me.

Even Garrison Keillor saves dramaticizing the small moments for fiction... life is what it is. And it's real. So I must answer the age old question posed by "T-bone" Tom Stankus, " Is this Schizoid paranoia, Is this Plato's Heebie Jeebies, or just existential blues?



What I'm listening to right now? Existential Blues by "T-bone" Tom Stankus
(If you ever want to know what my unoccupied mind looks like for 6 minutes or so, please listen - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEOQQvGffWE )