In An Instant: The Romantic Comedy Symdrome of Life

Although I am highly misanthropic, I have lived most of my adult life under the belief, the hope that in an instant your life can change – For the better. It is romantic comedy syndrome (RCS), where the down and out protagonist gets the unexpected chance of a lifetime and money and love arrives in a perfect package before the credits roll. It’s akin to the hope that people cleave to before New Year’s, the thing that makes them pay the exorbitant fees to be amongst drunk and irritating strangers in clubs, restaurants and anonymous parties, (I never quite got the whole Times Square thing- What the hell is that about? Squished into a contained area, braving sub-degree temperatures to see a ball lowered) As the seconds tick down and the clock strikes twelve they harbor the hope that something in the world, or in their lives will change. The truth of the matter is that when the clock strikes, it is the first of the month and your rent is due!

There is proof that the trajectory of a life can be changed in a matter of seconds. Think of the lottery winner as the last ball up signs their name to a multi- million dollar check, (though history has also shown that they end up miserable after the millions – Oprah did a whole show about it)- but I digress. Perhaps it is my nature but the life altering instances seem to lean towards the unpleasant, tragic sort, albeit there is something of beauty begotten out of it, even if it is just a movie of the week or a Lifetime Original Story it comes with a paycheck and a C-list cast. That’s more than the average Joe dreams of.

My mind goes to all the unexpected incidents of nature or man that drastically alter the course of the lives of many, either by cutting them short or by leaving them behind. The tsunami in Thailand instantly wiped out whole villages, and the people who inhabited them. In those devastatingly brief moments Mother Nature equalized those who had worked the land and served the privileged to feed their families living in the most modest of circumstances, and those who had garnered fortune and fame taking a break to enjoy fruits of their labor - even those who might have scrimped and saved in order to experience paradise on earth, just once. Without discretion it was all swept away, in an instant.

My thoughts carry me closer to home and the numbers that now signify something larger then a date on the calendar, or eerily the code for the emergency- 9/11. On that fateful day the 2,955 people set out about their day, boarding planes to go home to their loved ones or to a business meeting, they got up, showered, ate breakfast, fought with a spouse, got kids off to school, jockeyed for a space on the subway, or highway, worried about making a mortgage, car, or tuition payment and wondered how their lives (for better or worse) came to this. Then, at 8:46 am none of that mattered. Time stopped and the problems that at 8:45 seemed insurmountable dissipated. All that we are, all that we strove for was stripped bare in one instant.

In the aftermath, those of us who witnessed, and those who survived were forever changed, having to make sense of it, and our lives in its wake. In the days after, New Yorkers traversed the city in mourning; our pace tempered our moods reverent. People were quieter and more courteous on the subway. The smell of smoke in the air reminded us of the loss of life, and that sense of security. It was the scent of change, nothing was the same, or ever would be; yet things were oddly, peculiarly the same. As artist I questioned what I was doing, why and what did it matter? There was a loss of purpose, I had never quite gotten the point of my life on this planet, but when something as random and two planes hitting the tallest buildings in the city happens, I had serious doubts of ever figuring it out.

After the attacks in the months to come al-Qaeda, the name of the terrorist group responsible and Osama Bin Laden would become household names, there would be colored alerts levels announced on the news (Though civilians were never briefed on what we should do– we just knew if it was red we were screwed) and for a short while in the city there were rifle toting army soldiers deployed in the subways. Travelers countrywide would lose countless pairs of tweezers and scissors forgetting that they were now on the lethal weapon list, as would be perfume, shampoo and all other liquids in larger than a 3. Ounce container.


With time things (at least for the masses) went back to business as usual, there was the idiots standing in the subway doorway when you were trying to get out (or in) people blinding passing the mother with the 300 pound stroller struggling up the stairs alone, people stood closer to the crosswalk to hail a cab before you even when they clearly saw that you were there first, people went back to – well to being people. And I continued to be the same me.

As a couch potato I have watched endless hours of television programming depicting the stories of survivors of all sorts, disease, accidents, crimes, loss of loved one, loss of income and life. I watch as they somehow overcame, witnessing what I called the resilience of the human spirit. No matter how well produced and edited it was always inspiring. I would sit awed at the courage and perseverance of these folks, and wonder why I couldn’t seem to pull my ass of the couch and get my shit together.

I have waited for decades to be jarred into another way of being. Perhaps I thought that some great loss or tragedy would propel me into a more proactive state of consciousness- I mean how many New York Times bestsellers are about that sort of thing? Take A Million Little Pieces for instance (Whoops bad example , but you get my point) I have lost, those dear to me, great chunks of my soul have been amputated however the tragedy seems only to embed me deeper into the mire of despair, solitude and a craving for alternating salty and sweet high carb, high fructose foods, which is when the only thing that keeps me from Googling the fastest, least painful ways to off myself is the idea that in an instant your life can change. Even though the statistics are grossly in favor of it something horrible – that doesn’t mean that something incredibly phenomenal can’t happen. With hope springing eternal I check my email and phone compulsively with the baseless hope that some incredible news will be in my inbox or voicemail, and a new better life is just a click away. So far, no luck, at least none that sticks.

So I have come to this conclusion: if you wake up, then you have to do life, there is no choice, and if you have do it then you might as well to make the best of it that you can and take it day by day, moment by moment. As misanthropic as I might be, I have to say that I am not a pessimist- no a pessimist would never believe in the romantic comedy syndrome element of "in an instant" (with positive ramifications) no, I am what I like to refer to as a Realistic Optimist, A professional Lemonade maker if you will. I have found life to be a bit tart and at times bitter, but with the delicate sweetener of hope it can at the very least be salvaged. And where Lemonade not quite my drink of choice- if that’s all you have well then…Cheers.