The following piece is dedicated to the memory of Christopher Klucsaritis.
Man is a finite resource with infinite uses. Because of this, man often fools himself into believing that he is a far greater creature than he has a legitimate claim for. Statues are erected in his image, words are spoken/written of his greatness, and he ties his own existence into that which surrounds him even when his surroundings will exceed man’s own long enough to erase any traces he once existed. Few professions offer man a rebuke of his self-envisioned status as God, instead feeding his ego and lulling him into the comfort of his greatness. Celebrity, a construct itself of man, is one of the few naysayers to contradict him.
At first feeding into his ego like so many other distractions, celebrity eventually wears on its recipient. Man is in a constant pursuit to chase celebrity, to maintain his status as “known.†Being known allows man to convince himself he is a great creature, that his legacy will extend far beyond his own time and give him a sort of immortality he cannot find physically. To that end, he’ll extend himself into awkward positions and carry himself far beyond his expiration to chase celebrity. Unfortunately, most men fail at this pursuit. Even if they’re able to grab hold of celebrity, it’s only for a short moment. Few are able to sustain it for an extended period of time, and even those that do usually lose hold of it at some point.
This fall from celebrity, the time spent living away from its light, is a soul-crushing rejection of man and his notion of greatness. It’s a confirmation that man is little more than an opinion among many; not strong enough to stand as fact, his existence containing nothing to confirm its place in time beyond his physical presence, and that is soon forgotten.
Some respond to this rejection by pushing ahead and continuing on that original chase, hoping they can once again grab hold of celebrity and confirm their place. They turn into a self-parody, dancing like trained monkeys desperate for attention. Others wallow in their insignificance, sinking into an apathetic morass where they have no clear idea of what comes next; time passes as it would normally and they exist until they don’t, no special care given to their memory as that is the tradition time honors. Still others capitulate. They cease their chase and follow paths that while divergent in nature all lead them off into the dark, no longer to bask in celebrity’s light.
To say any one choice among these is better than another is absurd. As an industry, celebrity is harsh and cruel. Its eventual outcome is confirmation of man’s insignificance, and its only reward a few brief moments masked from that knowledge. The only judgment to make is: was it worth it? Were those brief moments so sublime that you can justify them in the face of everything that comes after? Because man himself is only an idea in his own mind, and when he ceases to think, man will be forgotten.
Was it worth it?
