I Wish I Was a Civil War Buff

So says the character George Costanza from the show Seinfeld, and has ever since been one of my favorite lines. It says so much about our collective and individual existential angst, but put so concisely and delivered so well. Brilliant.

Many of us are in a position that we have some time or money for a hobby, even if only a little. We sometimes long to have a passion for something that will fill up the emptiness, if we have not yet found one. As we go through life, sometimes we might try on the passions of another, but it fails to warm us, let alone ignite us into action. Mostly everything seems like a worthy cause or a good idea, and they appeal to our ideals of time well spent. Some activities will appear to others to be mere hobbies, others will appear to be a noble vocation, and some only appear as jobs and tasks. How they are experienced by us will be highly individual. One man's chess is another man's chore.

As George declares the disengaged condition of himself so poignantly, yet so pathetically, "I wish I was…", I can't help but laugh at his sad-sack, jealous demeanor, and wince at his grotesquerie. I have felt the same way, when I get confused or discouraged, or when my creative juices are at an ebb. I can start to judge how people spend their time, because I'm wishing for outside guidance, rather than asking myself some hard questions.

When the Seinfeld series ends with the four main characters in prison, we get the show "creator's" judgment on them, that we have been watching a group of grotesques, and their lives have really been spent on not much more than getting together to complain, envy, scheme, or mock. They're actually pretty comfortable with that state, and so we won't worry about them too much. It's not a tragedy. But, it's not a state that I want for myself.

Consistently through the history of his character, George has purposeless days and goes around comparing himself to just about anyone, and senses that he somehow missed out on being handed his passion. He seems to reject the notion that realizing a dream is a process of discovery for everyone. Because we must discover it, that's how we recognize that it is ours, and not someone else's. He would rather it would come to him like a prize in a box of crackerjack, or found in a coat pocket like a forgotten twenty dollar bill. Those momentary impulses that create a small stir are limited in their nature. He may have already rejected religion or spirituality, higher education, a career, or volunteerism as lacking the ingredients for the fix he needs, but he might be tempted to solve his selfhood by way of a late-night infomercial and a credit card.

Just like the knight searching for the Grail, we can't follow someone else's search and end up at the same place with the same reward. George might fill up his envious, rumbling spirit temporarily by consumption, or he may feel like hurling himself at someone else's interest, and buy all of its accompanying gear. The stuff becomes his new buddies. He may even lie about his enthusiasm or qualifications to be in a group who share that interest. But at the end of his lunge, he knows he isn't a "buff" of that kind, and bitterly shrinks his capacity for being engaged with life.

We don't have to have one main interest for the span of our lives, and only one shot at enjoying it. Some trails lead to others, and some trails need to be left behind, when they become just a retread. New phases can help us to gain strength that will serve us well in the next phase. Joys can come unexpectedly and unplanned, but knowing their value, we are ready for them. We're not even focused on our own whims. All of that external casting about falls by the wayside.

George is never ready; instead, he is always caught between desperation and panic that an opportunity is passing him by. He mistakes happenstance for opportunity which pulls him in many different directions, leaving him disaffected and numb. In between these fits of desperate jealousy, he soothes himself by consuming, and then summing it all up with self-aware and clever comments on his raging dissatisfactions. He is often saved by his quick intelligence and capacity for insight, which makes him lovable as a character. His curiosity and diligence run out just as quickly, and so all he can share with anyone is his plate of leftovers, making him frustrating as a character.

What George is addicted to, but not passionate about, is feeling like a winner, feeling a bit superior to those around him, and having a secret behind his smug grimacing smile. Like Jerry, we can't wait for him to entertain us with his latest grab at being "buff". It's just going to be another tale of a junkie's ego fix, which is bound to end in humiliation for George, and humor for us, at his expense. George is a fool for his ego, rather than his passion. To get what he wants, he whines, wheedles, and manipulates for flimsy favors, but he receives no real help. His desire is murky, and his methods are suspect.

Re-enacting inner conflict

If he ever asked himself the tough questions, we wouldn't feel as comfortable laughing at his disappointments, but more like rooting for him as a hero.  None of his foibles would trip him up so inevitably, engendering contempt from those imprisoned with him. Instead, his set-backs would inspire amicable friendship. As long as the work gets accomplished, his ego doesn't care that he needed help.

I'm glad that George is just a character to enjoy, and not a real person. I'm glad the show's short prison sentence on the group is just a scenario with a sense of comic justice. But for those of us who are real, I'd rather not see anyone experience unpleasant cosmic justice, when their daily sufferings could be used as fuel for their heartfelt passion.