Projects

Having just finished watching "Julie and Julia," I have been thinking about life in terms of projects. In the film, both Julie and Julia find themselves feeling restless and stifled by their lives, with loving husbands by their sides but no personally fulfilling goals. So, naturally, they get some, and a movie takes place. The plot follows the course of each of their projects-- the excitement at the start, the strain that sets in, wondering what was so important about the thing in the first place. The motivating undercurrent of purpose. The thrill of successes small and large. The film ends as their projects culminate in recognition and joy.

But what happens when the project is over? What do you do when you spend years working on something, and then it ends? There aren't a lot of "projects" that I've followed up to satisfying conclusion, but if you consider the culmination of a project as the ending of a a phase of life, then I can speak from some experience.

Rehearsing Les Miserables, for instance. That show (like nearly any) was made out of the tears, sweat, and blood of the cast. Initially thrilled to be cast as Fantine and to have a chance to bring the material to life, I was dismayed when rehearsals began to grow more and more stressful. But on opening night, when we sang the final notes of the show and the audience leapt to their feet, I was stunned with the sharp happiness I felt. It came again on closing night-- the hot, sweet tears of culmination, achievement, and finality. Both were moments that I will take with me forever.

But, as such, they probably constituted a few hours of euphoria amidst months of ups and downs. And the day after closing, I was listless and airy as a ghost. The project was over. The moments had passed. I would have to find something new to occupy myself.

And so I have. I have rediscovered the desire that I have within me to create. I have begun work on my musical. There is another project. There will always be another project.

My life can be positively measured in projects that I obsess over. Determining my religious denomination. Writing this or that novel. Getting the perfect college scholarship. There is no time when I am not engaged in some kind of quest.

There is a moment in Julie and Julia where Julia's husband is about to finish his last assignment for work. He sighs, "Then what do I do?" What do we do? What do any of us do? Is life just one project after another? And if it is, is it about that joyful terminus, or is it about being immersed in a goal? Is it about the goal or the journey? If it isn't about the goal, then what is the point?

I'm not really despairing of questing. There's nothing that's going to stop me from it. But it just intrigues me to think that we are all hard-wired to be striving to finish a project-- but the projects never end. It is not as if, once we finish one particular goal, we will be able to put everything down and relax. We won't. We can't. It isn't that whoever dies with the most toys wins. If we could live forever, we would keep finding new tasks.

All of this leads me to the joyful conclusion that we were made to seek and to be satisfied-- eternally. What a joy it is, to know that our God supplies both for us. He is gracious enough to grant us joy and peace in the end, but he is big enough that we may run after him and plumb the depths of his truth and wisdom for all eternity. It is as C. S. Lewis wrote of the new kingdom in "The Last Battle"-- once they got there, they all had a great desire to run. But they never got tired.

P.S. --

I do recommend the film. It was refreshing to see a movie that espoused finding your own interests and what gives you a joie de vivre, and not giving up on those things. Most chick flicks will tell you that the solution to your problems is to find a man. This story showed that, even after finding a wonderful mate, there is more of life to be plumbed.