I think I had a conversation with the retiring Steve Zissou today, and as I sat beside him on the red carpet of his final premiere, he muttered to me and a little german boy (with shorts remarkably similar to his uncle's) that "this, this is an adventure." No blank stare or thin veil of apathy could shroud the power of his statement. He was a washed-up man living in his own crumbling shadow, and I, some burnt out college kid seeking some sense of relief after a night of finals, finally saw the eyes with which I've been watching, observing, pursuing, with.
They were blank yet passionate. They sighed but laughed joyously. They recouped but saw the world as it was.
And that's what I've been. That's where I've been. I've been afraid of "stagnancy" tagging itself along with me, but I've realized it's only been a shadow at most. I've grown tired of it, and I've convinced myself that that shadow was more than some veil of a presence, but rather a defining description of my life thus far. But I lied to myself. I'm hungry. Fuck that. I'm starving. I'm starving for change. I get giddy at the thought that I'm experiencing it right now, that I need it, that some God is mindfully deducting any childish sense of ego and maturity within me. I was starting to become sane! I was beginning to see uninhibited joy as naive, and I began to see myself as decent as most.
But I'm not. I'm far from it. And I say that with a grateful smile.
I am a wretch. I am a phony. I am some rusted shard of whatever I try to represent or pursue. And though my intentions are well, I am human. A tragic one. A tragically beautiful one. My failures hold wisdom, and my accomplishments hold no weight.
I am sitting aside Mr. Zissou. And I look at the crowd with the same eyes. And I know how he feels.
That this is an adventure. That no matter the routine and monotony, no matter the sea of superficiality, no matter the incessantly pounding frustration, there's still some nook I need to explore. And though I've misplaced my map and my compass is probably where ever I last put it, you can catch me walking out that door.
Because my eyes are tired. And every ounce of human blood in me tells me I'm tired. That I'm a broken record. That I've been dreaming this all up. And maybe I am. And maybe I really am lonely. I mean I think I've finally convinced myself of that. But just like that washed-up explorer, the very source of his anguish brought solace upon him.
So maybe this frustration, this loneliness, this unfed beast within me that ignores any meal I give to it, will be the source of this solace. Maybe it will teach me that I've been dancing around the concept of God with a sense of cynicism that brought me a sense of power and maturity. Maybe it will teach me that I have a lot to learn.
That this is an adventure. And I have a lot more exploring to do.
Thank you Mr. Zissou. Or I guess Bill Murray.
-Grant
