Warning: nihilistic viewpoints used as optimism. Although, is it really nihilism if it's nihilism as a reason to do things?

Michael Shurtleff, a major Broadway casting director, wrote in his “Audition” book that “Life is a cabaret, my friends; you have to compete, or you aren’t of any interest to anyone else.”[1] He was talking about acting, yes, but this also applies to real life. Shurtleff, from what I can tell just from reading his book, was a wise man. I think that this, at least in part, comes from observation. Those who are interested in making art about humans tend to study them. They notice habits, manners of standing and speaking, the similarities and differences between groups, and much more. In this way, the creative person becomes a pseudo-sociologist. From what I have read of him, one of Shurtleff’s specialties was pinpointing emotional truth. This quote is no exception.

Many of us have taken on the role of “shrinking violet” to deal with our lives; we do not want to be noticed. For whatever reason, we are afraid to be noticed. I am certainly that way. I have crafted my life so that I fly under the radar. This was great for high school and even useful in college, if not optimal. However, the older I get the more of a burden my invisibility becomes. I have found that it is difficult not only to relate to other people but also to display my emotions. I am so good at keeping my outer persona passive, regardless of my feelings, that I have forgotten how to react externally like a human. I have buried my humanness in favor of automatism.

I feel like that’s how many of the truly unnoticeable people begin. We don’t like to be pressured or put on the spot even if we know what we are talking about. We are terrified of failure, so we plan to barely succeed. This is not OK. Everyone should feel more comfortable with failing gloriously than with barely doing anything.

Lately, I’ve been thinking darker thoughts than usual. If you know the depths to which my imagination can descend, you understand that this is a truly frightening concept. I’ve decided to share my thoughts in an effort to display my humanity and to give an unconventional pep talk to those like me. If you are afraid of the dark, I suggest you close your eyes for the next few paragraphs.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how inconsequential everything is. One day, everything will be gone. This planet will die as every living thing does eventually. There will be no us, and more than likely no one to dig through the remains of Earth in search of evidence that we existed. Sure, we may discover how to live in space or travel to a different planet, but the truth of the matter is that we can’t take an entire planet’s worth of information with us. Considering the preference for shiny over value that our society seems to have developed, it will likely be a clean start, if the human race even makes it off the planet at all.

What does this mean? Well, it means that there is no such thing as true ideological immortality. By this, I mean the thought that we are only truly dead when there are none left who remember us. Take Shakespeare, for instance. He has been physically dead for almost exactly four hundred years. There are few concrete details about his life, but his works live on. Now, there are few people in the western world who do not know his name. Thus, in a way, he lives on.

That won’t last forever. There will more than likely come a time when his plays are nothing but atmospheric particles. When his velvet puns have not graced the eyes or ears of any currently living being. I cannot say for sure that the universe will one day die, but we sure as hell will. Several times over until even our species is a forgotten whisper in the endless emptiness of space.

This is enormously freeing. Yes, maybe we all go somewhere when we’re dead. Heaven, Hell, the Summerlands, Hades, or back to the ball of energy from which we originated. But for all we matter, we might as well be a minute speck of dust on the lens of history. So, as long as we aren’t hurting anyone, we should be our authentic selves.

(Of course, that begets the question: if it doesn’t matter what we do, why should we refrain from hurting others? This is an important and difficult question. Obviously, we cannot refrain from hurting others in a certain manner of thinking. That’s part of being human. But at the same time, there is a difference between spending your short, meaningless life in jail and spending it actually doing things. Also, we are generally programmed to hate hurting sentient beings, so it more than likely will not be fun for you anyway.)

My point in all this melancholic drabble is that we should not be afraid to express ourselves. I should be able to walk into my acting class and volunteer my ideas without giving half a bottle of gin what anyone thinks about them. So should you. That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t edit ourselves when necessary, but that should not be the default. We should be the default and our edits should be the aberrations.

So, if you are not living as close to your authentic self as possible, work on it. Say what you think. Even if you are wrong, at least you were gloriously wrong and you can live with the comforting knowledge that everyone will forget how wrong you were. If you are actually a quiet person, that is OK as well. Be exactly the person that you are, because you help make life interesting.

You may have trouble with this. That is where Shurtleff’s quote comes in handy. You are currently in a cabaret with the roles you play. Compete with the other, less truthful versions of yourself so that you can shine. However, I suggest that you forget about other people as much as possible and care about being interesting to yourself.

[1] Shurtleff, Michael. Audition: Everything an Actor Needs to Know to Get the Part. New York: Walker, 1978. Print.