OF FAILURE AND OTHER MIRAGES
Some mornings the greatest challenge we face is to overcome the sensation caused by our image in the mirror. Not so much for the traces with which time writes its condemnation for our excesses (or even in spite of the generosity with which it has forgiven us those excesses), nor for the hypocrisy that we know lurks at the bottom of our gaze. No, I’m thinking of those mornings in which the Salieri many of us carry inside waves at us from the virtual plane of the left-handed universe in the looking-glass. Those mornings when we step out… no, I must start again in the first person singular because I don’t really know if this happens to you…
On those mornings I step out into the street and the beauty of the world becomes unbearable. On my way to work, treading on that yellow and ochre carpet with which the trees atone before winter for the golden arrogance of their autumn, I can sense Salieri walking by my side. He walks tall and without bitterness because he now understands that everything is the way it is supposed to be. He understands that there can be only one Mozart. That for each Mozart, there are fistfuls of Salieris. That for each Salieri, millions of players… minor, mayor… it doesn’t matter, they’re only players… and for each of those players billions of spectators. Oh yes, and for each spectator… only God, the distant, knows how many zillions of the uninterested there are.
Salieri smiles and taps me on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter”, he whispers, “it’s all a joke… a big cosmic joke. Be glad to be a part of it”.*
And I am.
The joke is not only long and unfathomable but more than likely it's in very poor taste too. So, whether we are the winner in it, or the butt-end, frankly matters little. Success, when looked at from a sobering distance and without envy, soon looks hollow, ephemeral and, yes, risible. Failure too… especially when both those two impostors are defined in terms of social mores and trends. In any case, let’s not forget that most “victories” are built upon secret defeats, unspoken failures, and that most “failures” carry a wealth of satisfactions that are only waiting for us to look back and collect them.
In the end, like it or not, we’re all participants. Even when we turn our back to the world, our dismissal is part of the event. So we might as well play our parts, the many parts we choose for ourselves at each of the many twists and turns that this longwinded joke brings about. The important thing is that, even if we can’t choose the parts, we play them our way, to the best of our ability… that, if anything, is the only form of success that is real and profound.
A dear friend, when asked whether he saw his glass as half-full or half-empty replied without hesitation: “I’m more of a ¾ empty kind of guy…” Personally, I’m delighted that there is a glass in the first place… ah, the possibilities…
* Those words actually came from my father, in a touching moment of intimacy. And now, as I see him wander into the fog of dementia, I think I begin to understand.
23.10.06
On those mornings I step out into the street and the beauty of the world becomes unbearable. On my way to work, treading on that yellow and ochre carpet with which the trees atone before winter for the golden arrogance of their autumn, I can sense Salieri walking by my side. He walks tall and without bitterness because he now understands that everything is the way it is supposed to be. He understands that there can be only one Mozart. That for each Mozart, there are fistfuls of Salieris. That for each Salieri, millions of players… minor, mayor… it doesn’t matter, they’re only players… and for each of those players billions of spectators. Oh yes, and for each spectator… only God, the distant, knows how many zillions of the uninterested there are.
Salieri smiles and taps me on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter”, he whispers, “it’s all a joke… a big cosmic joke. Be glad to be a part of it”.*
And I am.
The joke is not only long and unfathomable but more than likely it's in very poor taste too. So, whether we are the winner in it, or the butt-end, frankly matters little. Success, when looked at from a sobering distance and without envy, soon looks hollow, ephemeral and, yes, risible. Failure too… especially when both those two impostors are defined in terms of social mores and trends. In any case, let’s not forget that most “victories” are built upon secret defeats, unspoken failures, and that most “failures” carry a wealth of satisfactions that are only waiting for us to look back and collect them.
In the end, like it or not, we’re all participants. Even when we turn our back to the world, our dismissal is part of the event. So we might as well play our parts, the many parts we choose for ourselves at each of the many twists and turns that this longwinded joke brings about. The important thing is that, even if we can’t choose the parts, we play them our way, to the best of our ability… that, if anything, is the only form of success that is real and profound.
A dear friend, when asked whether he saw his glass as half-full or half-empty replied without hesitation: “I’m more of a ¾ empty kind of guy…” Personally, I’m delighted that there is a glass in the first place… ah, the possibilities…
* Those words actually came from my father, in a touching moment of intimacy. And now, as I see him wander into the fog of dementia, I think I begin to understand.
23.10.06
posted by magz at 1:48 PM
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