Future reality starts in what we believe inside about who we are

By David McElroy · August 10, 2019

It was mid-afternoon Saturday. I was in the shower getting ready to go over to someone’s house on a social visit for the evening. The phone rang in the next room and my mind had an immediate thought.

“It’s probably her!” I thought.

I’ve had this experience over and over. When my phone rings, I think it’s her. When I hear that I have a new email, I think it’s from her. I even have the same thought — “Maybe it’s something she sent” — when there’s something unexpected in my mailbox.

This isn’t rational. I have no reason to expect to hear from her. But because something in me expects it — every single day — I can’t help believing that it’s about to come true.

For right or for wrong, I have strong images of who I am and what my future will be. What people see on the outside isn’t always what I see on the inside. Like the cat who stalks his prey believing he’s a lion, I see myself as a world conquerer.

Nobody around me knows this, of course. Nobody sees or hears the disappointment when it’s not her on the phone or when the email isn’t offering funding to make a film. But this hope — or faith or delusion or whatever you want to call it — is a key part of who I am.

At dinner tonight, we talked about all sorts of things. It was a good conversation, even if we disagreed about some key philosophical points about how to organize human society. But when the conversation turned to the films I want to make, something changed.

I wasn’t trying to sell someone on my ideas. I was simply outlining a future reality about what I am going to create. What I must create.

I don’t suppose I was especially realistic. I didn’t have a plan to propose. But I painted pictures of what something in me is driven to bring to life.

And that vision of what can be — even the parts which I couldn’t put into words — felt more real to me than anything around me at the moment.

Some people would tell me I should be “realistic” and accept whatever life happens to deal to me. They say that hardly anybody gets to follow his heart. They say that it’s good enough to settle for whatever love might be available. They say that everybody ought to just be thankful to be employed.

And maybe they’re right.

All I know is that my soul paints powerful pictures on the inside of my skull and then pulls me eagerly toward making them into reality.

And I can’t let go of those pictures. Even though part of me tries to squash the desires and the hopes and the faith that I’m heading toward creating those things, some stubborn part of me refuses to listen.

Have you ever really watched a cat when he’s stalking something? I’m not sure they understand that they can’t really conquer the dog or human or vacuum cleaner that they’re trying to take down.

But in their determined and confident minds, they are roaring lions seeking someone to devour. They are going to win whatever they want to win. That’s the way these pictures seem to me. Each one of them feels more real to me than three-dimensional reality does.

And that’s why I believe I’ll make that short film. That’s why I believe I’ll be wealthy. That’s why I believe I’ll make this other feature film.

And that’s why — when the phone rings next time — I’ll be sure it’s her. And one day it will be.

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I have changed radically about some things over the years, but probably none of those changes have been as great as the ways that I feel about people who are viewed as evil or criminal. When I was young, I was eager to see criminals or foreign political enemies killed. Today, I don’t view such people though rose-colored glasses and I don’t view them as blameless folks who are going to turn their lives around if we just think happy thoughts. But I can’t celebrate the death of anybody, even if he might deserve it in some ways of thinking about it. Even if it’s sometimes necessary to kill someone — and those cases are often debatable — I regret the death of someone who will now never have a chance to discover love and change his life. There are some evil people in this world, but I can’t celebrate their deaths.

There was a time when I was idealistic enough to believe that if a writer expressed his thoughts clearly and simply enough, any bright and honest person would understand his point. I know better now. We all bring so many unconscious assumptions to the things we read that we often see what we expect to see instead of what the writer intended. This is incredibly frustrating to me as a writer, but I’m trying more and more to just say what I need to say — as clearly as I know how — and then ignore the inevitable responses which show that others perceived something which was not intended. I have to write for those who “get” where I’m coming from, not for those who see my words through personal filters that change my meaning. I hope my intentions are clear to you and I hope what I write can be useful to you, but if not, maybe my work just isn’t right for you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I found out this evening that someone I casually knew killed himself last Wednesday. I didn’t know him well — and I never found him personable — but he had started work a couple of months ago at a restaurant where I go. He was a 26-year-old who struck me as a confused and unhappy person, but I didn’t think much about it since he stayed to himself and resisted my efforts to chat with him. It turns out that he had a history of depression and had a lot of gender confusion. He seemed very androgynous to me and I learned today that he presented himself as female in some situations. He was rejected by a romantic interest last week, so he went to the woods and killed himself. His body wasn’t found for three days. It’s tragic how miserable people around us can be and how we so rarely know the truth about things they struggle with.

I’ve been with people for most of this day, but I feel lonely tonight. I’ve had things on my mind for the last few days that I feel the strong need to talk about. I need someone to share my thoughts with — someone who’s interested in ideas and how they affect us. Someone who gets excited to discover new things and can find joy in seeing new ways those things might change our lives. I feel lonely tonight because I painfully remember what it feels like to have that — and I’m craving that sort of connection. I miss having someone I can call and say, “I’ve been reading something and it’s sparked some thoughts I want to share with you.” Those sorts of conversations have lasted for hours for me in the past — or for thousands of words if it’s an exchange of mail — and it feels wrong that there is nobody who wants to hear such things from me tonight. I used to think being lonely was about being alone, but I understand now it’s a longing for one particular person. The loneliest place to be when you need one person is in a crowd composed of people who cannot be who you need.

I don’t agree with everything the late Neil Postman wrote, but I would argue that no other recent scholar gives coherent structure to the last few hundred years in the way his books do. I’m currently re-reading his book, “Technopoly,” and I’m comforted to have a scholar give structure and definitions to things which I’ve observed and barely understood. I was enough of a technophile when I first read this book that I bristled at much of what it said. I didn’t want him to be right and it was easier to dismiss him as a Luddite. But as I see technology continue to enable an information glut which is changing society for the worse, I find comfort in his explanations for how we got here. I don’t yet know the solutions, but I finally understand the problems more clearly. I suspect that much of what we need to make life more meaningful can be found in things we accidentally threw away in the past to make room for technologies. I strongly urge you to read the book and think about its implications.

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