The word drama is so contextual. From one situation to the next, it invokes entirely separate visions: it can describe the superficial complexity of tensions between a group of sexually amoral co-workers, or the engagements of valiant men duty-driven to to battle one another, or the soul-piercing intensity of true romance intermingled with the conflict of circumstance. Yet they all share a comment element of urgency, falsely or otherwise. The sense of urgency that comes with a compelling circumstance is, for some, the only source of meaning (however hollow it might be) that can be found. They doom themselves to a restless cycle of increasingly meaningless conflicts that never see resolution, but serve only to perpetuate endlessly until distracted by catastrophe, or silenced by misery and death.
While drama is itself a fascinating and alluring occurrence, it is not an end to itself. It looks forward to its conclusion that its participants may find themselves better off than they began. If drama has a purpose, it is in its finality, in resolution, and in completion.
In this context, I wonder how it is that I love being as dramatic as I do. I am forever eager to draw lines in the sand, to paint things black and white, to make ultimatums and force absolutes on situations that were born in the gray, and will die in the grey. I’m sure it’s something to do with my imagination; I long for each encounter I’m in to, at it’s heart of hearts, be a glorious and epic battle where true virtue is borne out in its totality, where my humanity will be stretched out to its absolute brink, where I will be tested, and found worthy. I long to be validated in more than shades of gray: I want to be unequivocally white, and recognized as such. The irony is that within the lives of those few characters I can point to as possessing what I strive for, there exists very little drama. The persistent presence of drama is often a sign of poor discipline, of mixed morals, of a lack of focus.
Some mistake that lack of drama as boredom, a lack of creativity, or close-mindedness – but I disagree. It’s the fruit of a true wisdom that can only grow when left undisturbed by the chaos of unending drama, free to know what reality outside the distortions of conflict is. It’s a foresight that only comes when left in total darkness. It’s a sensitivity that only comes when left untouched.
At the core, this is an argument against the sole validity of experience – for what is experience, but participation in a great variety of dramas, a long line of conflicts both resolved and unfinished? I’d even be willing to suggest that at the core of every person there is one great drama that wholly dominates their life, but for each person, this drama is specific and unique. The commonality of human experience lies in that each of us are fighting through this drama towards resolution, that we all seek to know absolution, and that we are all a part of each other’s dramas.
Calling life a drama is, in some ways, a self-fulfilling prophecy. I instantly yearn for a glorious death, for men and women alike to endlessly wail at my passing, for my story to quicken the hearts of young men and flutter the hearts of young women. The vision within my head is so terribly grand! Then, I look upon myself, and I wonder: how the fuck can I accomplish this in the 21st century? The age of apathy, where honor lies dead next to the grave of chivalry, where integrity more commonly refers to bridges than to men?
Broad platitudes aside (though I do dearly enjoy them), I do wonder what kind of character will prove meaningful in this century. Though I believe morality to be absolute, meaningful expressions of morality change with every age. Every age has its drama: what is the drama of the 21st century, and what kind of character will it take to bring it to resolution?