All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Oh, the words of Shakespeare. So cynical, yet so true.
Between life’s fleeting happiness, sudden tragedy, and all those in between feelings where nothing seems to be going on in your life at all, one begins to feel as if the world is toying with them. You wake up, go about your day, and fall unconscious again at the end of it all. You might have learned a lesson that day, or made a dreadful mistake, or experienced a wonderful moment, but soon it will all fade. It becomes nothing more than a memory in the distant past (oddly enough, the past is usually not quite as distant as one tends to make it out to be).
They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.
It’s funny, I don’t even think I’ve figured out what part I’m playing yet. How can it be that I’ll play many more? I feel like I don’t even know what I’m doing in the world, and I’m a person who MUST feel like I’m doing something, or I drive myself crazy out of knowing that I’m only contributing to the carbon buildup in the atmosphere. I see a lot of things going on around me, and I see other big players, but I feel like I’m one of the extras in the background. I know I’m needed and all (extras are important, too!) but I don’t FEEL like I’m doing much!
I know that ultimately, there is Someone in control who chose my time to enter. That Someone examined the circumstances and chose the best possible moment for me to come on stage, because they can see the WHOLE stage and they know what works. I think that I have one of two problems (or possibly both): I haven’t yet followed my director completely, because I haven’t put all my trust in Him, OR I don’t understand fully what it is He wants me to do (it’s a little hard to carry out a task when you don’t even know what the task is!). I think I’m pretty good at doing what I’m doing now, and if this is where He wants me, I’m ok with that. But what if I’m just totally not listening to Him at all, and He really wants me to have a speaking part where He knows I could be more useful and enjoy it even more than what I’m doing now? So I’m either in the place I’m supposed to be and doing the right thing (unlikely), in the right place and doing something quite wrong, or in the wrong place completely because I’ve suddenly come down with a blatant case of hearing loss (or merely subjective hearing).
All I know is, when it comes time for my exit, I want to leave with the knowledge that I played my part to the fullest.
Let's see how this plot develops, shall we?
Allons-y!
