You have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless, until they can find rest in you.
- St. Augustine
"I don't normally comment on celebrity deaths…"
That's how so many blog and Facebook posts I've read over the past couple of days have begun, and apparently I'm no exception when it comes to the effect Robin Williams' death has had on so many people.
The thing that hit me like a ton of bricks was the realization that (wait for it) pursuing your passion does not guarantee happiness. Certainly not if you struggle with depression at least.
We all know this is true when it comes to money and fame. "Money (and fame) can't buy happiness" is one of those cliches that is engraved into our brains from the time we are young. It's something I guess we all KNOW on an intellectual level, but that doesn't necessarily mean that we really believe it. In fact, reality TV would have us believe the exact opposite. According to the Today Show (aka, scientific evidence), in a recent poll of 5-year olds who were asked to complete the sentence, "When I grow up, I want to be…", the most common response was "rich", followed closely by "famous". (Coming in at third was "a police man", and I'm inclined to wonder how many of those were the kids who had enough savvy to know what kind of an answer they were "supposed" to give.)
I remember that when I was very young, maybe 6 or so? I told my mom I wanted to be an actor. "Oh Theresee," she said, "You don't want to be an actor. Those people have miserable lives." I don't know why, but I never forgot that.
Despite this, and despite knowing that "money and fame don't buy happiness", I majored in Theater in college, because I'm a rebel and because it was my passion.
You see, another idea that has been deeply embedded into my generation is the notion that you should pursue your passion at all costs, aka, "Do what makes you happy." (I think we primarily have Steve Jobs to thank for this one.) The implication is that passion+success=happiness. If you are successfully following your passion, you should be happy, right? Money and fame, while they don't bring happiness in and of themselves, are nonetheless an indication of successfully having followed one's passion.
I think this is the thing that really shocks us and shakes us to our core when someone like Robin Williams takes his own life.
"Sure, money and fame don't guarantee happiness, but he was pursuing his passion! He was doing what made him happy!" And the ironic part is, I have no doubt that he was.
For most of my life I have struggled with depression, panic attacks, and general anxiety. In elementary school, I always felt different from the other kids, although I couldn't tell you why, and still can't, really. When I got to high school, I had my chance to start over. I went to a tiny school where it was easy to stand out, and I quickly learned to be "the class clown" (I have my senior yearbook superlative to prove it). I remember making a conscious decision to stop caring about what people thought, which, on the surface, seems like great advice. "Don't care about what people think" is another popular catch phrase in our society.
The thing is, it really wasn't within my power to stop caring. I couldn't. I honestly don't think anyone can if you are a real, living, breathing human being. Because the fact of the matter is, we are social creatures (yes, even the introverts, though we find it totally annoying) and we need each other. That topic could stand on its own in a separate post, so suffice it to say that the best I could manage was to ACT like I didn't care.
"I don't care that I'm not 'normal' - I'm funny!!"
And I was. It paired perfectly with my flair for acting, because I could constantly be center stage. Specifically, I could be center stage for something other than my crippling fear and insecurity. I could be center stage as someone else - someone I was sure everyone liked much more than they would have liked the real Theresee.
The problem with that was, I loved people. I (gasp) cared what they thought about me. Being funny was simply the only way I could think of to get them to accept me (Mind you, most of these were people I had known my whole life - think REALLY small school - and I still thought I had to get them to like me). But, far from fixing this problem, I was lonely because I was sabotaging any chance of fostering real relationships.
Naturally, this had a not-so-great manifestation in my dating life. I met guys easily enough (who doesn't love a funny girl?), but things always fizzled quickly once the funny wore off and I was faced with having to be, you know, ME. I became painfully aware of this and so developed an alternative strategy for "fitting in": being pretty (I hear you laughing, and I know where you live). Being naturally skinny, it wasn't too hard since society has groomed us to believe that this is the primary element of beauty. Throw in a blow-dryer and some makeup and presto! Pretty. But this always backfired on account of I cannot be bothered to have perfect hair and makeup 24/7/365. Also I have no butt, but that's a cross I must bear.
I have to admit, awful as it is, that there have been many, many times when Bryan and I have gotten into an argument, and I have genuinely believed that he does not love me. And it isn't because of anything he's done. Everyone messes up sometimes and hurts people they love. But in my case, I was always waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to prove what I'd certainly known all along: That I was unlovable.
As a Christian, I've often heard it said that two of the main lies the devil tells us are, "You are not lovable" and "You are incapable of loving others". God knows how many times I've bought into both.
I've been speaking in the past tense, but this is all still very much a part of my everyday reality. In fact, when the news broke about Robin Williams' death, I was in the middle of a bout of depression (OK fine, I still am), and had been blaming my unhappiness on my failure to follow my passion. If only I'd tried harder when I was pursuing acting or radio in college! I think timing is everything, and the reason Robin Williams hit home in a way that Richard Seymour Hoffman hadn't had everything to do with what I was experiencing mentally and emotionally at the time.
So I guess if this has any kind of a moral, it would be firstly, that passion only gets you so far without love. As it turns out, they aren't the same thing. Secondly, not caring about what other people think is not the solution, nor is it a particularly realistic goal. For most of us, the best we can do is to try not to let it dictate the way we live. It certainly should not be the way we measure our success, however you may define that. Lastly, be compassionate to the funny people in your life. To throw in one last cliche, chances are, they aren't laughing on the inside and are self-conscious about having no butt.
As backward as it sounds, I'm thankful to Robin Williams (and this article by David Wong) for giving me pause to confront my demons in a way I never have before. I can only hope that it will motivate me and other people who struggle in this area - those of us who, no matter how successfully we pursue anything, will probably always ask, "Is this all there is?" - to keep moving forward on the journey of self-discovery. Because, well… The more you know.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.
PS: Check out that David Wong article. Really.
PPS: I'm pretty much certain that reading this is going to make all of you stop liking me, without exception. It's the nature of the beast.
