WAITING . . . . . .

Once, long ago, I read “Waiting for Godot,” a two-act play by Samuel Beckett. I remember being impatient with it, and with the author for wasting my time. If I read it again, now that I am older and have the perspective of more years, I doubt that I would feel any more edified by it than I did the first time I read it. The play is about two self-engrossed, self-pitying male characters, Vladimir and Estragon, waiting for someone named Godot to come and make a difference in their empty boring lives. While they are waiting, Pozzo and Lucky come along. The addition of the two other characters is only a momentary distraction for Vladimir and Estragon.  Nothing changes. The second act, which occurs the next day, is only slightly different from the first act, being an echo.

Two years ago, I watched a film titled, “Waiting for Superman.” It was about the wretched state of public school education in the United States, and the potential for certain charter schools, such as the Harlem Children’s Zone, to make a difference. The title is a reference to how frightened he felt when Geoffrey  Canada’s  mother told him, when he was a child, that Superman wasn’t real:  there was nobody to save him.

Waiting for Godot, or for Superman, are metaphors for expecting that someone else will solve our problems for us, or save us.

Most of us hate waiting. It is part of the real reason why we may be habitually late. A bunch of people are late for a scheduled event, so the event is delayed several minutes because of waiting for the late-comers. The next time (or eventually), those who were kept waiting also begin to come late since the event never seems to start on time anyway, and waiting is so annoying.

Most of us are impatient. We expect results now, not in an unknown future. Some of us have little faith in waiting for promised results; especially when the expected results are delayed. Many of us feel irritated when our time is wasted by others or by circumstances. All of this is because we are, in general, self-involved, self-important, and self-centered.

And yet, some of us find ourselves waiting for “Superman” to save us from harm, sadness, tragedy, boredom, hardship, life. Some of us find ourselves waiting for Godot or an unknown entity that will miraculously or magically change our lives and make us happy. Absent the grand entrance of Godot or Superman, we feel sorry for ourselves.

The problem with self-pity is that it can only exist in a state of helplessness, waiting for someone else to intervene in our lives. While we are immersed in self-pity, we are doing nothing useful or productive. We are not trying to solve our own problems. We are not helping others. The secret to vanquishing self-pity, is to do some good in the world, preferably for someone else. The secret to taking the first step away from self-pity is to recognize the good around you and in your life, and focus on that. Then focus on making someone else happier. You can do that by noticing the good around them and pointing it out. Stop wallowing in self-pity, in the “slough of despond.” Keep stepping away from self-pity, one step at a time. Self-pity is a sin. It is the sin of ingratitude. It is the sin of self-indulgence. It is a lack of faith. It is full of pride, and lacking in humility. Don't waste another precious moment of your life feeling sorry for yourself.

Voice of the Soul (continued): Self-Pitying Music

I think there can be little argument but that music evokes feelings. It can make us feel happy, sad, courageous, fearful, reverent, boisterous—you name it. The whole purpose of background music is to put us in the proper mood. The music we like also says something about our personality or at least about our mood at any given time—for example, that we are romantic or sentimental, playful or serious.

So, what, exactly, is “self-pitying music”? Arthur Henry King (a very opinionated brilliant scholar who is deceased) had plenty to say on the topic of self-pity. King condemned self-pity in literature and in music and in people:

“Self-pity is never constructive. Self-pity is a morbid disease; it is a kind of self-indulgence instead of repentance. Self-pity is always a weakness, never a strength.”

“Self-pity is the dominant feeling of most modern literature in most countries. It is one of the greatest vices of our time. It is a very natural thing to have if one doesn’t believe in God. What a pitiable universe it is if there is no God! No wonder that self-pity thrives.” Referring to the writings of Beaudelaire, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Faulkner, as examples, he said: “Self-pity is the insidious side of a demonic, satanic generation ….”

Wow. That is rather harsh (as they say).

King continues: “There is very little music since the beginning of our 19th century which is not vitiated by what vitiates the whole of our society: self-pity, self-regard, self-esteem.” To vitiate means to destroy or weaken. And, incidentally, it is pronounced VISH-ee-ate not VIT-ee-ate. [Illustration is Picasso's Weeping Woman.]

Once we grasp the concept of self-pitying music, it is easy to find examples in country-western music and popular ballads. Interestingly, AHK does not give blanket approval to classical music either, as one might expect. He criticizes the music of Beethoven and Tchaikowski as self-pitying. The power of such music on me is illustrated by the following experience.

My attention was grabbed one day by a song that Jeremy was playing on his laptop computer. I vaguely recalled that I had heard this song a few years earlier. It was particularly heart-wrenching. I seemed to remember that it was part of a sound track for a tear-jerker movie which I had seen, although I couldn’t remember which one. I began wracking my brain to remember where I’d heard it before and while doing so, I became obsessed with the song. I actually wanted to keep listening to it so that I could feel sad, bereft, and wretched. It made me want to weep. Eventually, however, I began to feel somewhat tainted or soiled, manipulated or used, and that I needed to wash my heart and soul of the self-absorbed, self-indulgent self-pity that the song generated. Not to mention the nightmare of having this song stuck in my mind. It was going around in my head all night long, and all day long. Endlessly. It was then that I connected Arthur Henry King’s remarks on self-pity to the feelings created by that song

Of course, I remembered all of this while working on my playlist (see August 18 blog entry) and finding myself feeling blue. Hopefully, now I will be vigilant against self-pity of any kind in these blogs. Navel-gazing is so unlovely.

(Exception to the rule: Navel-gazing that IS cute.)

Prelude: Voice of the Soul

I spent several hours yesterday working on trying to add my music playlist into my blog—several hours because I am technologically-challenged. In the end, after more than a few frustrating tries, I gave up. It was midnight when I finally crawled into bed. Fortunately, I have a tech-savvy daughter. She came over this sunny day and did the paste job for me in less than thirty seconds. Thanks Dara!

Listening to this music as I have worked on the computer today has put me into a somewhat melancholy mood. As I began pondering which weighty topic I wanted to expound on first, the music sent my thoughts to the plight of motherless children, among an assortment of sad topics. Realizing that the music had fostered my melancholia, I wondered if some of these selections might be classified as just a tiny bit too “self-pitying” in tone . . . ?
[NOTE: Neither Bach's nor Yo-yo Ma's music is ever self-pitying!]

(To be continued . . . .)