I think about the future a lot, but also worry that it may be wasted effort since a tractor-trailer truck could sideswipe me out of existence at any moment.
Lately, I’ve been stuck on viewing my life through the traditional five-act structure that was commonly used in Shakespeare’s time: (1) Introduction, (2) Rising Action, (3) Climax, (4) Falling Action, and (5) Resolution.
If, as Shakespeare wrote, “all the world’s a stage,” 2019 may well be the start of my life’s third act (assuming that I’m fortunate enough to live a normal life trajectory).
I am comfortable with this fact.
My life’s first act constituted childhood and coming of age; it’s where my character was set. I made sense of the world around me and found a place for myself.
The second act has been a state of rising action. It started me on my life journey and settled me into a position of accomplishment with a home, a wife, and child on the way.
Now with my foundation laid, it seems natural that a third act should follow containing my life’s structural climax and middle age. It’s fun to fantasize about what the structural climax might look like.
It could be anything from developing cancer to accidentally curing it, or publishing the great memoir of our time and carving my own niche in the literary landscape.
Shakespeare scholars have broken his plays down into four categories: comedies, tragedies, love stories, and histories (or epics). It is impossible to tell how my life story will go, but this third act will be crucial to finding out.
Nobody wants to star in a tragedy, even though those tend to be the stories that leave the strongest marks. One must only think of musicians from Beethoven to Prince, leaders from Caesar to Kennedy (pick any), or spiritual leaders from the martyred apostles through Martin Luther King, Jr.
Comedies seem fun. Although usually meaningless in the end, there’s much to be said for being entertained from start to end. I would be very happy to look back at the end of my life and still be able to laugh.
My current fantasy for living an epic life now has me broadcast live on NBC as the parka-wearing father of an Olympic athlete telling Al Roker that every sacrifice our family made was worth it to see our child excel at her one true love: curling.
“Well Al,” I’d say, “It was a father’s intuition that she had a special talent. I noticed how easily she slid the Gerber Puffs between her high chair seat and table.”
“One day when I was sweeping them up she started yelling, “hurry… hard!”, and I knew we had to get her on the ice.”
Of course, my third act may not be as ideal as a fast-pass into Olympic village.
It is impossible to predict, but I am hopeful it will include a healthy child and personal growth as I become a father. While this (ideally) will neither change my character or my station in life, it may provide the change to my world that is crucial to a third act.
As with a play’s plot, life proves that expected setbacks lay ahead and that conflict is as inevitable as the resolution it provides. Worrying about what those setbacks and conflicts will be isn’t half as important as figuring out how you want the narrative to play.
No matter where you are in life right now, I encourage you to take some time this season to wonder about your own narrative arc and where this moment fits in the script of your life.
For me, this New Year’s period is an intermission. A respite to appreciate how my life’s story has unfolded so far and prepare for the inevitable climax. I’m simultaneously eager to laugh, frightened to cry, and ready to blaze a path through history that will be spoken of in curling halls for generations to come.
The stage has been set. The house lights are lowering and I’ve taken my mark. Cue 2019.
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