The Jung and the Restless

I've been slowly reading this book about the hero's journey for writers. It basically synthesizes Jungian archetypes, Joseph Campbell's The Power of Myth, and basic plot/characterization tips for writers. Anyway, however you feel about this "pop psychology," these roles do seem appearing over and over again in life, no? This seems as good a way as any for organizing the chaotic experience known as life.

I mostly have two recurring figures in my life: my mother and my father. I would say this is true for most people (unless they have large families with siblings or other important people... though I would argue that those people might be stand-ins for mater and pater). And this discussion isn't like how strippers have daddy issues, or how my failed female best friend relationship probably relates to my failed mother relationship. This isn't actually about people. It's about the things in my life that I've assigned these parental qualities to... keep reading... I really do plan to make sense.

See, my father is work. He was the one who took care of the day-to-day necessities: food, shelter, medical care. The kinds of things that we need money to procure. As a child, I got that from my father; as a grown-up, I get that from a job (or its resulting income). This is neither good nor bad, it just is. Unfortunately, my father also was sort of tight with money, and had a killer work ethic. These things lean a bit more towards the bad. I had to work for my allowance (which was also my lunch money), and if I didn't do my chores properly, I lost money and priveleges. It also meant he got to comment on how I spent my money, and how I took care of my meager finances. If he didn't agree, I received critical lectures. Add to this the fact that he spent more than half of his life working in one job, which he occasionally loathed. I learned that money was vital, work came first, and self-fulfillment would come later.

And now? Now I am terrified about money issues. So scared that I'd rather put my head in the sand than actually educate myself and take charge. I have an almost slavish devotion to my jobs (which is the epitome of irony now, since I'm a consultant). During my last corporate gig, the managers were mostly men. This certainly didn't help. In fact, we jokingly called my last boss "Papa" -- mostly because he had kids and dressed like a dad even though he was our age. But having to ask him for a day off, or when approaching our annual review? I was 9-years old again, standing small in the doorframe of my father's office, being instructed on the importance of saving.

It's not all bad. I am fairly good with money: I carry no debt but my grad school loans, I have savings and retirement accounts, and an accountant. I have a strong work ethic, and it seems to serve me well. But I feel entirely too responsible. I have trouble making large purchases (uh, mobile device decision still pending), and even feel guilty about a $5 lipstick or a $12 t-shirt from Target. I'm preparing for a business trip and trying to get some guidance on the travel budget; my contact has basically left it up to me, clearly assuming that he's dealing with an adult, and not a math-phobic 4th grader. How do I do what is frugal, convenient, and right all at the same time?

***

My mother is theater. This is potentially very bad, as writing is what I love most, but my father is the one I actually get along with. Or, actually, maybe it makes complete sense. I wanted to have my mother so desperately in my life, but it didn't always work out. For so long, I treated my writing as something that other people had to sign off on, approve of. This isn't completely erroneous, as there are a fair amount of gatekeepers and threshhold guardians involved: critics, festival adjudicators, producers, MFA admissions officials, etc. But it doesn't have to only be that way. I can do my own work, I can produce my own plays, and generally, it's ridiculously satisfying.

Except... it's hard work. Sometimes, it's easier just to sit and sulk and wallow. As in, "Why did my mother leave me? Why can't she be better?" Or, "This is too hard! I'm so stressed! I'm a hack and I'll never be any good. Playwright X over there is way more successful than I am!" There are such deep wells of emotion trapped here... I want to be the best, I want to be successful, I want that approval, whether it's her attention or a good pull-quote from a reviewer. "If I'm not the best, then I should quit" is equal to "If I were the best, she'd treat me better." Then I get trapped in my self-sabotaging ways, doing just enough work to get by, but not enough to really shine. What do I think would happen if I did that, cracked open that shell and let everyone be dazzled by me? I think it would hurt her, maybe. And because she never really let herself shine, I shouldn't let myself do it either. If I can't actually have her, then the next best thing must be to become her, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong.

There is another way. Stop fighting it... let it all go, and it will all come back. If I can accept that she's not perfect, that she's doing the best she knows how to do, and it's not actually about me, then I can drop the giant hurt-boulder I've been carrying around. I can just write what I want to write, and follow the paths and opportunities that will make me happy and give me the most joy, I can stop trying to follow Playwright X's path and have a happy little stroll down my own. It's easier said than done, of course, but saying it is a pretty good start.

***

There are things we're supposed to learn from these recurring archetypes. Usually, in the hero's journey, the mentor appears, teaches things, and then dies, leaving the hero to assimilate those lessons on his own. In some variations, the mentor eventually becomes a threshhold guardian, or even the shadowy enemy to be vanquished. But in none of these stories does the hero ever just stop, sit down in place and say "No thank you, I think I'll stay here." He keeps going, and accomplishes something, even if it wasn't his original goal. I will close with some words by one of the best-but-undervalued mentors of recent times: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming."



(That's Dorie, from Finding Nemo. Not all mentors have to be smart. Did you except me to quote Yoda?)