The role of a lifetime.
“Take someone who doesn’t keep score, who’s not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing, who has not the slightest interest even in his own personality: he’s free.” ~ Rumi
In 1998, Jim Carrey played the lead role in the film “Man on the Moon,” a biopic about the late cult comedian Andy Kaufman. For the entire shoot, Carrey stayed in his Kaufman character, both on and off the set. For four months, he was totally lost in that role, channeling Andy and his idiosyncratic personas.
At times, it proved exasperating for the people around him, but Carrey insisted that he wasn’t in control of his performance. He was just along for Andy’s ride. According to Carrey, after playing Kaufman, it took him a bit of time to get back to being “just Jim.” And after watching the fascinating documentary “Jim & Andy,” I can understand why. But I think he should have phrased it this way:
“It took me a while to get back into playing the role of Jim.”
Because there’s no such thing as “just Jim.” Carrey, like all of us, is always playing a role—an interdependent one—at work, in public, with family and friends. As social beings, our various roles are bound up with different groups, and that’s not a problem. The problem is that, like Jim playing Andy, most of us have no idea we’re doing it. We’re out of control, channeling our self-concerned identities, unconsciously along for the exasperating ride.
Unlike Halloween, when we intentionally put on makeup, costumes, and masks and enjoy the ephemeral joy and absurdity of our experience with others, we’ve isolated ourselves in our mental stories. We’re radically disconnected, embodying society’s serious roles and the misguided struggle for safety and significance. And so we have lost our true sense of self and our visceral connection to life.
Instead of intentionally inventing and taking on roles—knowing that the performances are made up and temporary, and that the various roles aim to improve our performances while enjoying the show with others—our authentic selves have become overshadowed and weakened by anxiously morphing our behavior to accommodate the perceived expectations of those around us.
We suppress our souls to be the person we think we’re supposed to be and to get what we believe will eventually make us feel secure and happy. Of course, we feel the hollowness of this instrumental and superficial reality and silently ache to release our authentic selves. But being authentic requires that we know who we are and what we want, and that we understand what reality is and how life really works.
The key is not to embody our roles, but rather to embody our essential nature, our desire to uniquely dance with the dynamic energy of the world. To be curious and creative, and to step, consciously, in and out of our complicated and nuanced human roles, fully aware and with acceptance and love.
In the end, we come to realize that the role of a lifetime isn’t found in a script or on a stage. It’s not even the myriad personas we adopt day to day. Rumi’s wisdom points us toward it: when we let go of scorekeeping, the pursuit of riches, the fear of loss, and even our attachment to our own personality, we find liberation. In embodying this freedom, we truly step into the role of a lifetime—our most authentic, unencumbered selves, free to engage with life’s grand performance without the weight of our carefully constructed identities.
The role of a lifetime is you.
Stay passionate!