The Oscars, Fame, and Impermanence

Monday, heading home from the various Oscar celebrations, I heard Jane Russell died at 89. I'm embarrassed to say my first thought was, "who's Jane Russell?" Apparently she was famous in her day. Mary Oliver wrote, "Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?" But 89! Isn't that enough for anyone? Or isn't it still "too soon" when it's someone you love?

Sunday night I was able to get into the coolest parties because I was with people who were way cooler than me. But in sixty years will they be saying, "who's Jane Russell?" about all of us?

As famous as any of us are, we will all fade into memory. We can spend our lives desperately seeking enough fame so that we won't be forgotten (though inevitably we will be) or we can remember that we only have our actions to leave behind and simply be in the present moment. It's hard to imagine that the self we've so desperately tried to solidify will one day disappear. But no matter how many Oscars one wins, one is S.O.L. when death comes. A lot of people were talking about how awful the Oscars were this year. In sixty years, most of us will be dead, and the rest won't remember Anne Hathaway's musical number.

I recently heard Jon Kabat-Zinn talk about how impermanence itself isn't a source of suffering. The problem is we're deluded enough to forget impermanence's inevitability and so we suffer when it rears its ugly head because we wish it to be otherwise. Or we suffer because we fear impermanence. We worry about our jobs, our kids, our relationships. Can you imagine not wishing impermanence to be suspended, when you consider the death of a loved one? I suppose that's why they call it practice. Maybe when you're enlightened you notice the wish and let it go. That seems kinda enlightened. It's hard to believe anyone wouldn't simply beg the gods to make an exception in their case. I guess that's why someone came up with gods, to have someone to beg when faced with death.

I remember reading that the unenlightened who surrounded the Buddha at the time of his death wailed with grief, while the enlightened did not. But I'm not enlightened. I would've been crying too. I know there's an upside to impermanence––the Civil War came to an end, as did apartheid, as did the Holocaust. Impermanence means change is inevitable, in China, Libya, Egypt, and even North Korea. Impermanence allows a seed to become a tree, a baby to become an adult. But it also allows an adult to return to the ground and nourish a seed, and become a tree. I wish that was easier to accept. But I simply want impermanence to work the way I want it to, when I want it to.

I may or may not hit the Oscar parties next year. Who knows? I may not even be around that long.