As the Curtain Falls
It is up to us to decide whether we shall live our lives according to someone else's script, or write our own
“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, …”
– As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII, by William Shakespeare
As the curtain lowers on this season’s performance of the endless play, I am reminded that anger, jealousy, and envy toward the few who hoard wealth and power are wasted emotions. The so-called victors of this round—the one-tenth of one percent who believe themselves secure upon their mountain—are merely actors in the same cycle as those who came before them. Their victories are temporary, their dominion fragile. Soon enough, the lights will dim, the scenery will be torn down, the props swept aside, and the stage prepared for yet another performance of that perennial game: “Who gets to be King of the Mountain?” The names will change, but the play remains the same.
The pressing question, then, is what is my part in this eternal spectacle? Shall I chase after the carrots dangled by puppet masters, exhausting myself for rewards that were never truly mine? Shall I spend my energy railing against the injustice of a game rigged from the start, shouting into the wind until my voice breaks? Or shall I surrender to despair, convinced that meaning itself is impossible amidst such futility? No. I will do none of these. Instead, I will accept that I am part of the cycle, but not a slave to its illusions. I will set my eyes not on crowns of gold or thrones of power, but upon the values and virtues I have chosen. My task is not to master the mountain, but to master myself.
The true rewards of a virtuous life are inside me, hidden from the applause of the crowd. If I live in virtue only to be seen and praised, then I am no different than those who parade their hollow victories before an audience desperate for spectacle. As Seneca cautions, “I must live without getting paid.” To live without pay is not a loss but a liberation, for in rejecting the wages of vanity I am freed from the debts and obligations they carry. In that freedom lies happiness, a serenity untouched by the expectations of others.
Nor will I let my heart harden against the fallen, whether they are those who clambered up the mountain only to be cast down, or those who, through wealth and intrigue, contrived their ascension. I will not curse them, nor celebrate their ruin. Instead, I will pity them, for they remain prisoners of the very chains they forged for themselves. Their ambition, their fear, their unquenchable hunger—these are shackles no one can release them from, other than themselves.
So I will choose another path. While the play continues, I will not sit in the audience enthralled by the drama, nor join the cast in pursuit of hollow accolades. I will walk offstage, into the quiet, and there I will live according to my own script—one written not in gold or acclaim, but in wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice. In such a life, the cycles of the mountain may turn as they always have, but I will remain unmoved, free, and at peace.