Eclipse of the Self
“The one who is not communist till the age of 25 doesn't have heart and the one who is communist after 25 doesn't have brain!”,said a close family friend of my in-laws, quoting a great person whose name I didn't know, even though I had heard the saying many times before.
It was a day after my wedding. I was 23 then, idealistic and taking pride in my liberal outlook. The man I spoke to was conservative or perhaps cautiously moderate in his viewpoint. He was used to commanding respect. Naturally, I didn’t make an impression on him.
It may be that he didn’t believe in change or that he took pride in preserving the existing form of society. I wish I had told him that being liberal didn't mean being left, although not being left didn’t really endow me with a heart or a brain. I told him that I saw nothing wrong with my views, as it made me very tolerant of other beliefs and philosophies. I was lying. Any belief right-of-center did not sit well with me. He only said, “That’s all very admirable, but come back after you are 25”
It is two years after 25 now. I still haven’t changed. I don’t know if I am right (no pun intended), if I am receptive to new ideas, if I am being unrealistic. But, whenever I am told that I am idealistic, I am aware that it is not said to express praise but to satisfy me and my accepted wisdom, even though their real perception of me is that I am naïve and have a trusting view of the world. Even supposing that idealism is what I am seeking, I am not satisfied with fake acceptance.
For my part, if I could fill my head with pleasant thoughts, of hopes and wishes unlikely to be fulfilled; if I could indulge in daydreams even if they distracted me from my actual existence; if I could allow myself to pander to my fantasies, I most certainly would. But, it is also true that I am not dwelling on the impossible. My view of the future is only hopeful and full of desires that are not out of reach.
But, there comes a time in your life when you are burdened by a strong feeling of idealism. All your words without action, despite your excessive enthusiasm, weighs you down.
What precedes this stage is one where you find a way of life admirable, you aspire for it, you fantasize about being triumphant in the attainment of your world. You play out the scenes in your head - your long challenging journey of idealism, your act of setting yourself free, but along with seeing yourself reach that place of significance, you also see happy people in a world characterized by happiness, all owing their merry state of existence to you. Huge crowds of people cheering joyously, bowing down to you, holding you in reverence, for having achieved an estimable feat. You are flawless and your qualities have become so important that they’ve taken over your life and your being.
But that dream never materializes because even in your head you haven’t taken that selfless leap, you haven’t done anything that would make you worthy of merit. In fact, you have become self-centered, concentrating selfishly on your own hypothetical greatness.
Your narcissism becomes the impenetrable glass standing in your way, keeping you from going to the other side. You can see that idealistic world and know what it takes to reach it, but you still stand there, paralyzed, letting your imagination run riot.
Perhaps that is the problem; my hunger for admiration, whether I am worthy of it or not. I have needed people to regard me with pleasure, in the same way that I have regarded them with a sense of wonder.
Once in a while, when I become aware of a greater world and feel the need to lend a hand, I stretch it, only to find that I have stretched it in a direction where there is no one willing to hold it and take me where I am needed. Repelled by my self-absorption, they prefer to put up with their misery than take my aid and satisfy my ego.
So that’s where I am. I want to do my part, but I don’t know how. I have become a prisoner of my self. I have let my triumphs in my imagination overshadow my real inability to respond emotionally. But, unlike the past when I was satisfied with imagining my greatness, I feel nauseous and guilt-ridden. People have stopped admiring me in my imagination as well. They don’t even blame me for being vain. They disregard me, like I don’t exist. My dreams have failed me. My actions might too.
