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We Are All Actors

murphree8

I have thought about death often, for the past twenty-nine years, since I was twenty-five. 1995 was the year my father, my nemesis for the majority of my life until that point, died. I have written about his death many times, and I have also written about his life, mostly his abuse towards my mother and myself. I do not intend to write about him now, except to state the fact that with his death, it made me think about my own mortality. 


I believe what his death did to me, or should I say for me, was to launch me into a new direction of thinking about how I wanted to live my life. I realized that I had this need to become a better man than him. I’m not sure I set the stakes high on that, but at the time, he was one of few men who I had to look at as a model. I can confidently say that I have achieved that. I am a better man than my father ever was. That is my revenge. That is how I avenged his abuse towards my mom, to myself, was to become a better man than he was. I have often wondered if my brother has ever thought this way? 


Throughout the years, as more loss came, some in the form of tragedy, “death reflection”, as I like to call it, continued. I no longer had to try to become a better man than my father. That will be a lifelong journey where I will continually try to improve myself. The other deaths brought me to a state of mind where I had to ask myself in a consistent manner, “Am I living the life I want? The life I imagined? The life I set out to live?” 


Long ago, when I was in my early twenties, I had this dream of becoming a published writer. Writing was something I started to study, and with that, took a few creative writing classes along the way. To me there is nothing, hardly anything I suppose, as vulnerable as sharing your written work with an instructor who will inevitably offer criticism towards your creativity, and also from the classmates who you will share that work with. They too will sit in judgment, offering you their immediate critique of the words on the page in which you filled. It may be like sitting in a very cold room naked. Men, you understand what I mean by this. 


During this time, I often looked at authors and their background and education. I started to notice a trend where so many of them had Masters of Fine Arts degrees from prestigious colleges. They had English degrees. I didn't even have a degree from a mediocre college, or any college. Self-judgment and a lack of self-worth started to grow, not only towards my lack of writing ability, but my overall intelligence and what I was giving to the world as a whole. I found myself embarrassed to share my written work, and rightfully so for many pieces, but it made me feel inadequate. An imposter. I now often feel that way when I walk through the schoolhouse doors each morning. I think back to my past, my education and professional trajectory, and imposter syndrome strikes me as an educator. “I should not be here,” I often think. “Others have more knowledge. They are more prepared. They actually like professional development. They finished college after high school. They love talking about education.” This feeling of being inadequate as an educator has also weighed on my shoulders as a writer. However, It has made me realize that the actual problem is that of self-worth. Self-worth that has been lacking since I was a child, and it likes to visit me often as an adult. Now, this does not mean that I lack confidence. That is something different to me. I share my writing and most times think, “People can either like it or not. I enjoy creating, they have the right to judge it if they feel the need. I write what I want, and some of it is pretty good.” This thought allows me the confidence to share my words. The same kind of thought happens as an educator where I think, “I don’t have the technical knowledge that many educators have, nor did I go right to college to become an educator. My interest is not in knowing all of the education jargon to make me sound knowledgeable, but put me in front of just about any student and I’ll connect with them and do what is most important, build a relationship.” Still, I think, “Is this enough? Am I enough?”


How does this all relate to what I set out writing about, which was death? Well, August 31, 2024, will be the one year anniversary of my mom’s death. I have documented several times, through letters to her and other writings about grief, how her death has impacted me. I share these thoughts because one, I need to or they will simmer inside and tear me apart, boiling over, wrecking my mind and body; and two, I know other people who are also struggling with loss and I want to help them if I can.


 With that, losing someone I care about also makes me think about my own death. I start to think, how much longer do I have? More so I worry about losing someone else that I love. What will life be like if I lose another sibling? What about my mother-in-law? We recently lost another dog. For the dog lovers reading this, you know how devastating that can be. You know the void that is left when they die. What if it was a niece or nephew? Watching a sibling lose a child would be as heartbreaking as watching my mother try to pick up the pieces after she lost her daughter. Losing a child is not how life is supposed to go. What about losing another friend? I found myself closed off to relationships after my friend, David, killed himself. I am still cautious about building a friendship with another man. Someday, my wife and I will die and it haunts me to think about which one of us will go first? I am uncertain I could take her death. If we are both old, which I often hope for, I think we will follow one another closely in death. I have read about such things happening, that two people who are bonded and love each other as much as we do, die shortly after their spouse dies. These are thoughts that make me wake up at night, especially in the midst of heavy grief. It is difficult to process at times. 


I know this might sound morbid to many, but the reality of death lingers in the air. Yet, the reason I process death in this way is because it wakes me up to life. To face the reality that at any single moment, within any single circumstance, the person that is next you can be taken. I have concluded that is why my attempted way of being is correct. I try like hell to live a mindful life, to live for the now, in this very moment. I know that life can change within one single day or even an hour. That one thing can happen within a single breath that will change your life forever. This is why we must, absolutely must, cherish the time we have with the people, and pets, that we love. We must be grateful for the moments and the time we have because it can all be taken from us. Life is like a dead dandelion when its leaf tissue leaves the stem, blowing through the air. Even the lightest of wind can take it on a journey to its final resting place. It seems like such a short journey.


I set my mind a long time ago to living a life that I thought would be interesting, meaningful, but more importantly, on my terms. It is why I write what I want, with my own voice, and share my thoughts because from my experience, my words resonate with someone out there. Recently, I was at a book signing where a young person told me how much my first novel helped them understand themselves. As I stood at the table, my books lay near, and thousands of other books from authors much more qualified to write than me surrounded my senses from the dusty shelves that they occupied, I felt a momentary sense of worth. The same happens when I have a former student reach out to me and tell me how much I helped them when they were in school, and that made the difference in their experience. 


Perhaps, like I have come to discover in the past couple of years, it is validation that I seek. The validation comes from the experience of trauma. It comes from an inept father who never told me he was proud of me. And, with all respect, comes from a mother who made my accomplishments seem like they were not adequate enough. It comes from celebrating others and showing up for them, but not showing up for me. These are not things that I strive to draw sympathy for, but they are more of a reflection that brings me more self-awareness. Long ago, I decided that becoming more self-aware was one of the most important things I could do, and then maybe I could be rid of the things that hold me back, like validation, or the suffocating, throat clenching effect of never feeling like enough. Those things can make someone feel like a prisoner inside of themselves. 


What I offer is this, through words that I hope you find validating, is that the person that you need to feel worthy towards is looking at you each morning in the mirror. I have concluded that we all have a responsibility to ourselves to live our best life. To experience everything that we can while we walk this planet. It is to do more than simply occupy space but absorb the space, swallow it fully, and examine it. Examine yourself and those so called imperfections. Hold yourself accountable to the life that you want. Those dreams that many will think are useless moments on your ticking clock, go after them. Especially them! The things that others think are useless are usually the most extraordinary. They are what makes you special, an individual who swallows the sunlight. Be the type of person who loves illusions. Deceive reality or become it, for most people strive to avoid reality. It’s why we see so many people walking around with crooked necks, tilting down, looking at a screen that has distracted them from their purpose.  


Death will eventually come for me, and it will come for us all. It is a part of life. For me, I will continue to work on not being the imposter that I think I am. Perhaps I will perfect the roles that I have set out to play. I will remember all of my lines, or better yet, I will improvise it all and be my true self. We are all actors in a play and this is our one great performance. I hope you get a standing ovation at the end. 



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© 2022 by Chuck Murphree

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