End Of Loyalty: The Essay OR Where Dead Ends May Lead
So I started writing this essay showing how Green Day lyrics accurately predicted and, subsequently, perfectly commented on the economic crisis, but it wasn’t turning out as funny as I hoped. However, if you’re curious about some interesting reasons as to why the meltdown occurred I highly recommend reading ‘The Unconscious Civilization’ by John Ralston Saul and ‘Black Swan’ by Nassim Nicholas Taleb. Neither book is solely on the topic of economics per se, but after reading them I do feel you’ll have a better understanding as to how shit like this happens when we put our faith in the hands of so-called “intelligent” men.
As for the Green Day part, well you can make any poetry match your opinion if you juxtapose well enough.
So I am left feeling a little bereft of ideas now. But I am trying to train myself to possess a modicum of positivity and try to view failed ideas or dead-end stories as pathways to something better. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot of where wrong choices or truncated routes can lead.
Historically, I am pretty damn loyal to my choices, even when they’re clearly wrong or stupid or illegal (statutory schmatsatory, I say!). Anyways, I’m not so sure if this blind allegiance to ‘my gut’ is always the most prescient course. A lot of this doubt comes from being an Edmonton Oilers fan. We’re a people that are loyal to a fault. Does anyone actually believe that MacTavish is the right coach for this team right now? Is the fact that former teammate and character witness Kevin Lowe just might be too caught up in the glory day past to make the cutthroat, ruthless decisions that separate the managerial class from Homo sapiens? I mean, for Christ’s sake, Glen Sather ponied up the bail for Pocklington! These are hallmarks of a toxic relationship. We have been a team that has been polishing the furniture on the deck of the Titanic for a long fucking time and I’m thinking there’s a time when rigidity of ideals no longer seems stalwart and noble but instead makes you look like a twat and breaks the hearts of all your fans who are too young to remember the specifics of the Dynasty years and too old to dye their hair, trade Cogliano in for Cobain, pick up a guitar and stop following sports, whilst quoting Noam Chomsky to anyone who shows an affection for the game.
So where does that leave me? Well besides the choice of being a life long Battered Wife Syndrome sufferer at the hands of a playoff skirting hockey team, I also moved to Vancouver at the age of 26 to go to film school. I don’t want to mope too much here, but – you know – there are those times when you start to wonder if these decisions were the best ones, or am I too running out of time to cut my losses and clinging to some bullshit bravado masquerading as belief in one’s obtuse ambitions.
Now I’m not saying I regret my decisions, I’m just saying your faith gets shaken, maybe not even by something earth shattering, maybe by something as dull as finances or writer’s block (for the record, I don’t believe in writer’s block by its current definition, although I do think there’re times when everything you write would make a baby in an Anne Geddes picture puke blood and speak in tongues).
Christopher Hitchens said he answered the obligatory question of “what advice would you give to aspiring writers?” as follows: “If someone said to you that you could not write anymore – could you go on living? If the answer is no, then you’ll be fine. You may not be a howling success, but at least you know you’ll be doing what you’re meant to.” Sounds decent, I know, but I fucking hate comments like that.
First of all, Hitchens IS a howling success (by my standards) where I am a layoff away from being a chimney sweep. I wonder if he truly understands how scary it feels to realize the possibility you may never have a lot of money for the majority of your adult life. Secondly, does it have to be that binary in nature? If I could never direct a film project again could I go on living? I think the answer is yes. Does that doom me to a life of unfulfilled desires of filmmaking? Do I not have the mettle for the psychological grind that a career in the arts can be? See, advice like that just depresses you…
There was a time, when I first got back from Taiwan, that I was looking at attending either film school or law school. I had even begun some rudimentary research on law schools in Canada and writing the LSAT, etc. True, my mind wandered more to filmmaking than to lawyering (yes, that’s a word). Therefore I did apply to a film school – only one, however – as a test, I guess. To see if I got in. To take it as a sign. And I got in. And I went. But what if, say, 10 years from now, I wanted to do something else? Even take a crack at attorneyhood (no, that’s not a word) again? Would I be seen as a failure? Most people would look at a lawyer, tossing the shackles of a white-collar world to the wayside to embark on a meaningful, artistic endeavor as a very romantic tale. What of the reverse? Doesn’t quite evoke the same emotion. And this is a culture where even a change is considered quitting. Where ‘giving up’ is the mortal sin, even if it turns out the success ladder you’ve been embarking up has been leaning against the wrong wall. It’s all well and good to loathe being career identified, unless of course, your career is creative, romantic, idealized and cool.
The title of this essay comes from a short film we made. It never got finished because, during editing, we found it too bloated – too wordy. The ending was the movie and it took a very flat road to get there. In a way, the making of the flick defined the title better than the story did. Perhaps we just got too loyal to our pretty words and ideas. There’s a danger in that.
Look, I have yet to find a place I feel more alive, competent and content than on set. But that doesn’t mean I won’t ever, and it doesn’t mean I don’t have my doubts. We may stumble into something that we had no idea we were meant to do, or – more accurately- stumble into something that seems perfectly catered to us. We should be allowed to be more than one thing in our lives. If I decide to become a producer, set dresser, optometrist, English teacher, editor, bank teller or clergyman, I hope some intangible notion of being a sell out failure – of breaking my loyalty to my choice – won’t prevent me from tunneling the latest hole in the dead end wall. And I also hope that those around me would give me a little bit of credit that I know what I’m doing and not get on my back about it.
But, don’t worry, I don’t mean you.
As for the Green Day part, well you can make any poetry match your opinion if you juxtapose well enough.
So I am left feeling a little bereft of ideas now. But I am trying to train myself to possess a modicum of positivity and try to view failed ideas or dead-end stories as pathways to something better. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot of where wrong choices or truncated routes can lead.
Historically, I am pretty damn loyal to my choices, even when they’re clearly wrong or stupid or illegal (statutory schmatsatory, I say!). Anyways, I’m not so sure if this blind allegiance to ‘my gut’ is always the most prescient course. A lot of this doubt comes from being an Edmonton Oilers fan. We’re a people that are loyal to a fault. Does anyone actually believe that MacTavish is the right coach for this team right now? Is the fact that former teammate and character witness Kevin Lowe just might be too caught up in the glory day past to make the cutthroat, ruthless decisions that separate the managerial class from Homo sapiens? I mean, for Christ’s sake, Glen Sather ponied up the bail for Pocklington! These are hallmarks of a toxic relationship. We have been a team that has been polishing the furniture on the deck of the Titanic for a long fucking time and I’m thinking there’s a time when rigidity of ideals no longer seems stalwart and noble but instead makes you look like a twat and breaks the hearts of all your fans who are too young to remember the specifics of the Dynasty years and too old to dye their hair, trade Cogliano in for Cobain, pick up a guitar and stop following sports, whilst quoting Noam Chomsky to anyone who shows an affection for the game.
So where does that leave me? Well besides the choice of being a life long Battered Wife Syndrome sufferer at the hands of a playoff skirting hockey team, I also moved to Vancouver at the age of 26 to go to film school. I don’t want to mope too much here, but – you know – there are those times when you start to wonder if these decisions were the best ones, or am I too running out of time to cut my losses and clinging to some bullshit bravado masquerading as belief in one’s obtuse ambitions.
Now I’m not saying I regret my decisions, I’m just saying your faith gets shaken, maybe not even by something earth shattering, maybe by something as dull as finances or writer’s block (for the record, I don’t believe in writer’s block by its current definition, although I do think there’re times when everything you write would make a baby in an Anne Geddes picture puke blood and speak in tongues).
Christopher Hitchens said he answered the obligatory question of “what advice would you give to aspiring writers?” as follows: “If someone said to you that you could not write anymore – could you go on living? If the answer is no, then you’ll be fine. You may not be a howling success, but at least you know you’ll be doing what you’re meant to.” Sounds decent, I know, but I fucking hate comments like that.
First of all, Hitchens IS a howling success (by my standards) where I am a layoff away from being a chimney sweep. I wonder if he truly understands how scary it feels to realize the possibility you may never have a lot of money for the majority of your adult life. Secondly, does it have to be that binary in nature? If I could never direct a film project again could I go on living? I think the answer is yes. Does that doom me to a life of unfulfilled desires of filmmaking? Do I not have the mettle for the psychological grind that a career in the arts can be? See, advice like that just depresses you…
There was a time, when I first got back from Taiwan, that I was looking at attending either film school or law school. I had even begun some rudimentary research on law schools in Canada and writing the LSAT, etc. True, my mind wandered more to filmmaking than to lawyering (yes, that’s a word). Therefore I did apply to a film school – only one, however – as a test, I guess. To see if I got in. To take it as a sign. And I got in. And I went. But what if, say, 10 years from now, I wanted to do something else? Even take a crack at attorneyhood (no, that’s not a word) again? Would I be seen as a failure? Most people would look at a lawyer, tossing the shackles of a white-collar world to the wayside to embark on a meaningful, artistic endeavor as a very romantic tale. What of the reverse? Doesn’t quite evoke the same emotion. And this is a culture where even a change is considered quitting. Where ‘giving up’ is the mortal sin, even if it turns out the success ladder you’ve been embarking up has been leaning against the wrong wall. It’s all well and good to loathe being career identified, unless of course, your career is creative, romantic, idealized and cool.
The title of this essay comes from a short film we made. It never got finished because, during editing, we found it too bloated – too wordy. The ending was the movie and it took a very flat road to get there. In a way, the making of the flick defined the title better than the story did. Perhaps we just got too loyal to our pretty words and ideas. There’s a danger in that.
Look, I have yet to find a place I feel more alive, competent and content than on set. But that doesn’t mean I won’t ever, and it doesn’t mean I don’t have my doubts. We may stumble into something that we had no idea we were meant to do, or – more accurately- stumble into something that seems perfectly catered to us. We should be allowed to be more than one thing in our lives. If I decide to become a producer, set dresser, optometrist, English teacher, editor, bank teller or clergyman, I hope some intangible notion of being a sell out failure – of breaking my loyalty to my choice – won’t prevent me from tunneling the latest hole in the dead end wall. And I also hope that those around me would give me a little bit of credit that I know what I’m doing and not get on my back about it.
But, don’t worry, I don’t mean you.
posted by Jag at 8:07 PM
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