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Everybody wants to be a hero

Everybody sits around, hoping to get noticed. Sitting on a park bench, poor me, thinks everybody, if I suffer enough, somebody will care. If I suffer enough, somebody will see what a hero I am, with the world on my shoulders, thinks everybody.

Everybody wants to be the star in a movie where nobody else is a star, walking from scene to scene, being adored and worshipped. Everybody wants to be important, while everybody else is unimportant. Everybody wants to elevate himself from the masses, because the masses are just stupid sheep. I must be better than that, thinks everybody. I can not just be dust in the wind, thinks everybody.

I gotta save the world, thinks everybody. Everybody wants to be a policeman, a good man. Everybody wants others to look at him and say that’s a real man. Everybody wants to be stronger, freer, independenter, superior, smarter, morally above everybody who is not everybody.

Everybody wants to have that big romance, that big drama, the big purpose, the big thing that makes him important. Everybody wants to be important, but everybody does not know what important is even supposed to mean.

Everybody is a slave to being a hero.

Everybody is so fucking special. Everybody is misunderstood. Everybody has so much lost potential. Everybody has a tragic life story.

I am too good for this, thinks everybody.

Everybody looks at the Hollywood movies, at those who made it, and everybody thinks: I understand!

Everybody is walking through the movie of his life, from scene to scene. Each scene is filled with lots of unimportant people everybody does not care about. Everybody does not care about the side actors, why would he? The only valid way of existence is to be the main actor.

Everybody sits at the airport, waiting for their true love to stop them from going away, because everybody saw that happen in a movie.

Everybody thinks he is more important than others because he is intelligent, strong, beautiful, witty, funny, desirable, powerful, cute, needy, poor, wealthy, rational, emotional, spiritual.

Everybody is so proud of his scars.

Everybody thinks that the side actors are just waiting for him to go through his mighty journey, to figure out the big truth.

Everybody pictures himself winning arguments, hearts, jackpots, fights, bets. Everybody pictures himself standing up there on the lonely mountain in a heroic pose that would humble gods.

Everybody wants to find that something, to make it.

Everybody does not want to be a side actor, but everybody is. And nobody cares about everybody if everybody is not the main hero, the center of the universe, the one everything revolves around.

Everybody thinks he can save people, fix people, make things right, wake everybody up, achieve something important, have his name remembered, his bloodline continued, the world reflect his greatness back at him.

Everybody thinks he has something important to say, something important to contribute, something to surprise and impress the world.

Everybody wants his life to be meaningful, but he has no clue what meaning is even supposed to mean.

Everybody wants to be special, yet to be it, looks outward to understand what others would consider special.

Everybody wants to ride into that sunset while the orchestra plays meaningful music. And yet, when he is there, on the back of his horse, he realizes that this is not the end. Life knows no end credits. It is just a sunset, just a horse, just an orchestra. When will everybody ever find that final meaning?

Who are the side actors? What do they care about? What are their aspirations? Everybody never asks himself that question.

Everybody is an idiot.

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  • Smokingjacket

    You have to imagine you’re in the audience and not on the stage…still life makes idiots out of most of us, sooner or later.

    • I got the idea for this article because when I recently watched movies, I could not help but notice that everything seems to always revolve around some special snowflake and everyone else is basically just there to demonstrate how heroic that person is. You have the people in the background walking the streets (unimportant), you have the people admiring the hero (unimportant) and you have the enemies that get killed in the hundreds (unimportant). So I was wondering: What makes the hero so special? Why does he get to live while thousands of enemies of his die?

      • Smokingjacket

        It’s akin to the light beam from a lighthouse that has unfortunately stopped revolving in its normal pattern. Instead, there’s only a very thin sliver of light projecting across the dark terrain of the waves at night.

        It’s like this in the movies with most of us perennially consigned to the darkness which the hero cannot see as he stands adorned and glorified in the narrowness of the dysfunctional light he cannot see beyond?

        I like the neglected, the disused and the unvisited elements (especially in cities) in life. Maybe, it’s the fact that they tell us more about our own value, rather all the sterile shopping malls, that I feel appealing? I don’t know really?

        • It’s the Shadow. It is everything we think we are not, can not be, want not be: Pathetic, weak, poor, broken, ill. And yet the potential for all those aspects of human life is inherently within us. We can be the hero one day, for sure. But we will also have the days of pathetic weakness.

          Maybe it is the soul who seeks wholeness that turns away from the clean facades. The soul telling you: Look. Look what you are missing out on. This is also you. This is also truth. Don’t deny me.

          • Smokingjacket

            “Maybe it is the soul who seeks wholeness that turns away from the clean facades. The soul telling you: Look. Look what you are missing out on. This is also you. This is also truth. Don’t deny me” I like this sentiment very much as it’s a powerful antidote to the know it all, need to be successful at all costs, but ultimately selfish ego of the “hero”.

            There is a real touch, and I don’t think you intended it, of Christianity and the poverty of the soul about what you say and the saying about inheriting the world but losing one’s soul? It’s interesting that Jung equated wholeness with the feminine principle (soul) as the driving impulse/desire and perfection with the masculine principle (spirit) as the corresponding impulse in men. When you think about it, it makes sense that you must, like a sculptor of sorts, work away on the base material with all its shadowy elements of one’s life for one’s true character/spirit/form to become worthy and authentic in God’s sight perhaps?

          • It’s funny, there is an introduction to Bukowski’s “Women” that says something like: While XXX (some gal) seeked for transcendence in the pure, innocent, beautiful, Bukowski seeked it in the depraved, dirty, etc.

            I personally wouldn’t want to miss either. Both the heroic and the depraved are two sides of the same medal. Neither is the truth in itself. The truth is everything together. But maybe the two sides aren’t as different as it may seem. I have always felt, when I saw “perfection” in that pristine sense, that something is looking down on me, judging me, saying: Look you filthy creature, I am so much better than you.

            As if the very attempt at perfection was in itself only a denial of that which it sees as pathetic. And maybe, when that judgment and distinction falls away, both seem simply as one. Neither is seen as inherently more worthy or beautiful or whatever. Just a different aspect. Like a beautiful woman in a white dress who goes to a party and there she goes to the bathroom to take a shit. If we let go of the contrast (white dress vs shit), we can see a wholeness instead of a contradiction.

            I pretty much dislike the Christian view. It’s the opposite of what today’s consumerism is: Total exaggerated humility without the tiniest hint of daring confidence.

            Why would I need to choose? Why do I have to decide to be a worthless piece of pitiful shit or an infallible hero? I want to be both. I want to be complete.

            You may guess it from what I write, but I don’t think anything is ever unworthy of God’s sight. In a metaphorical sense, that is the whole illusion and source of all pain. God is really you. When YOU refuse to look at something very consciously and without judgment, this thing becomes depraved of love. In your mind, it will feel … kinda darkish, “evil” perhaps. But it is not because the thing in itself is evil. That black cloud around it is not evil – it is just your fear to look at it.