I am terribly vexed...

My all time favorite movie villian is Commodus in Ridley Scott’s Gladiator. Joaquim Phoenix nails the role of the sniveling, traitorous son of Marcus Aurelius who crowns himself emperor after murdering a father who judged his character ill suited to manage an empire. Rome is ultimately restored when the general Maximus honors Marcus Aurelius’s dying wishes by executing Commodus in the Coliseum thereby enabling Rome to become a republic.

Maximus is an unforgettable character because he personifies the wish to defy tyranny. He is a man of humility whose cause is just. “Gladiator” is potent entertainment.That being said, I’ll never forget insisting it was my favorite movie ever and then watching “Ralphie” on the Sopranos declare the same thing. (Ralphie had a nasty habit of murdering people close to him- his girlfriends son, sexual partners, ect.) Nice.

I rewatched Gladiator for the umpteenth time this weekend, trying to figure it out. The stirring score, and having Ridley Scott direct certainly help- but the central strength is that Gladiator is a modern day morality play. Good triumphs over evil. 

Obviously, the audience identifies with Maximus- a man who has lost everything and then achieves redemption personally and on a global scale by executing a tyrant. His rage borne of betrayal and injustice becomes the fuel to sustain an improbable quest to bring justice to an empire.

As we sympathize with Maximus’s pain, we grow to identify with his rage. We leave the movie feeling really great. Why? Because rage is energizing. Rage we can feel righteous about is a powerful drug. Rage that allows us to transcend moral boundaries designed to facilitate civilization (yes, killing the emperor fits into this box) and feel virtuous rather than shameful is intoxicating.

So- let’s shift gears for a second. What do we make of politicians and talking heads telling us we have to kick out incumbents and take back America? Never mind that many of those incumbents were voted in two years ago after bellowing that same phrase. Many of us feel discouraged. On an individual level, our lives feel more like country western songs than the superstardom we had hoped for when we had really bad hair (I vaguely recall planning to win an academy award the same summer I discovered “Super Sun-in” ).

We have expanding waistlines, are concerned we will never own our own homes, and worry that we are no longer on the path to career success. These nagging concerns remind us that we are not the sort of heros self help materials try to convince us we can be. In fact, we know that we eat and drink a little too much, really did not need to buy a Winnebago, and should’ve studied harder instead of hanging out on facebook all night.

So- these anxiety producing thoughts bump up against what I like to call the indoctrination of personal awesomeness. Born in the seventies, I was treated to all the educational fads of the eighties- some useful (dental care pointers- YES) and some questionable (indiscriminate self esteem boosting). Like everyone in my generation and beyond, I colored worksheets with rainbows and attractive grownups telling me “YOU are special!”

Hmmm. I will be forty in four years and the last time I checked, I was not a celebrity. My thirteen year old regularly rolls her eyes and says things like, “Am I the ONLY adult around here?” Skinny jeans...well let’s just say they are best left for skinny people. And there is no way I could support my family of four children in suburbia without the financial assistance of an ex husband. Not feeling so awesome. 


Somehow, when I played Wonder Woman in kindergarten, I didn’t factor in having to get along with an ex husband. It never occured to me I might not succeed at whatever I put my mind to becoming. It's as if I operated under an unspoken system of quid pro quo- I got to enjoy the fruits of being a good girl if I became a God-fearing woman and a mother who created a loving home and somehow managed to achieve superstardom in the 12.5 seconds a day little people were not treating me like a jungle gym. 

Suffice it to say, my perfect little fantasy of world domination through being such a "nice girl" came crashing down when I found myself a single mother at 32. Divorce rocked my world and I could not avoid a very uncomfortable fact. My marriage failed, despite many hard years of trying to save it. My awesomeness did not protect me. So I understand a bit when people say they “hit bottom”. The bottom for me was realizing that I was not immune to misfortune and no amount of righteous indignation could restore my fantasy of “good girl = perfect life”.  

As much as I am embarrased to admit this, I think I've been high on vicarious righteous indignation when I delighted in “My name is Maximus Decimous Meridimous, blah blah, loyal servant to the TRUE emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murderered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my VENGEANCE, in this life or the next!” 

That may have felt good and is a fine place to be while you are double fisting popcorn in a movie theatre, but it’s really not the most useful emotion when you need to build a future. While rage was constructive for a Roman General with legitimate evil to fight, I am woman who enjoys more resources than most of the world has who can't legitimately complain my life is so much harder than it should be. The task before me? Building a productive future after accepting that I have passed the age limit to try out for American Idol and my that ex husband “is not that into me”. While the cognitive dissonance from school age programming bumping into my disappointments may cause me discomfort, it does not neccessarily mean I need to go kick some ass.

Instead, I need to accept my future will be largely shaped by my willingness to work within the realm of reality. People are not going to give me things because I am so much more special than everyone else. My acting like a goody two shoes does not mean I get ushered to the front of every line. Getting mad at the fact life did not play out the way I hoped it would is pointless. Instead, taking some time to evaluate the things I did to contribute to my own unpleasant outcomes, and then trying to make better choices is the only way to a better life.

Now, I’m not getting all confessional because I want you to start sending me the latest book with a gleefully bossy bald man on the cover who has the key to fixing my life. It’s because the lesson I've learned is : The self esteem movement that taught me and the rest of America I could have anything I wanted because I AM SPECIAL is waaaaay off base.

Instead of “giving us wings” as a generation- it bred a sense of entitlement that has two main outcomes: extremely irritating narcissistic behavior, and/or a disbelief that sometimes we don’t get what we want and consequent unwillingness to "roll with the punches". As the economy shudders and it’s pretty clear we are no longer the lone superpower, America as a whole must come to grips with its lack of awesomeness. So far, that reality does not seem to compute.

If we don’t face the music, and we just rage against reality to we soothe our souls with the drug of righteous indignation, we are moving seriously off base. Are we all “Maximus”? When our homes get foreclosed on because we took too big of a gamble, will we meet an overdressed emperor in a dusty arena and solve our lack of liquidity by “sticking it to the man?”

Or- dare we explore that perhaps we as a nation are in trouble- not from injustice outside our borders or as a result of a scheme by a newly exposed scapegoat du jour, but in the individual choices we Americans have made that have coalesced to form our current crisis?

Is it possible that identifying with Maximus and adopting his fatalistic lawlessness is the exact opposite of how we will “restore America”? Here’s an unpleasant thought- we may have more in common with Commodus right now.

Before you roll your eyes at my self flagellation turned anti American rant- consider the scene where Commodus murders his father, Marcus Aurelius, when he learns he has been passed over as heir to the throne. With a perfect mix of self pity and rage, Commodus snivels, 

“You wrote to me once- there were four chief virtues: Wisdom, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance. I knew I had none of these- but I have other virtues: ambition, resourcefulness, courage (not on the battlefield, but there are many kinds of courage), and devotion to my family.” Then, when the aged emperor reaches out to embrace his bitter son, the music swells and Commodus commits the ultimate treason. His blinding rage compels him to smother his father and ensure his own power.

So- America- in these days where we have to accept that we can’t always get what we want (or in many cases, what we need)- we have a choice. Which set of virtues will we aspire to? Will we negotiate a reorganization of global and domestic power with wisdom, justice, temperance, and fortitude? 

Or will we scream against tyranny in the form of the political party we do not favor and oppose their every effort as we rage against life turning out differently than our “awesomeness” entitled us to? Will we feel justified in blindly destroying the genuine efforts of others as we celebrate our *ambition* in the sense we pursue prosperity above all because it is our birthright? What about *resourcefulness*? Because noone knows resourceful more than a political operative with a nose for dirt. Do we have the sort of *courage* that compels us to send individuals from lower socioeconomic backgrounds who are not considered responsible enough to legally drink alcohol to serve as our henchmen in world affairs that we have no right to interfere in? Finally- are we so *devoted to family*- be it blood or something larger- patriotism- that we consume more than our share of world resources and judge other lives to be less precious than our own?

There is a time and a place for anger. After all, even Jesus went apeshit on the Pharisees every now and again so I’m not suggesting we all sit around singing kum bah yah as we starve to death. I’m just saying- let’s examine the indignation we feel from the very legitimate disappointments we feel as a nation before we default to rage. Rage compelled a spoiled child to murder the father who gave him life because he was blinded by a sense of entitlement.

Let’s ask ourselves, “What part of this discomfort I feel is my doing, and how can I help my country as it faces middle age?” Our glory days don’t have to be over- we just need to locate our collective will to reinvent ourselves without compromising national character.