All the world’s a stage.

                                                                           

(Maybe Shakespeare had it wrong?)

                                                                                                    

     He said all the world’s men and women are “merely actors.”  Are we?  Do we, for example, do what we do and say what we say purely for the intrinsic worth of it?  Or do we preoccupy our minds with intentions of impressing others for the lame sakes of our own egos?  Or are the shows we put on and the acts we deliver simply a means to our ends? 

     These are not unimportant questions in the grand scheme of things because the answers are ones that actually end up driving and energizing us as individuals as well as team players. 

     And youth (ah, yes, remember that?) seems rather tenacious in its approach to ego protection, projection, promotion, and strengthening vs. the signs of acceptance that seem to come to many with age.  Or is it that we just lose contact with (or not give a damn) after journeying over one of those proverbial “hills” that mark numerous birthdays from 29 on up that end in a zero?

     Maybe Shakespeare had it wrong?

     Maybe all the stages are our worlds!

     My “stages”—my office, my bedroom, my softball field, my car, my garage, my favorite restaurant, my favorite beach and mountain and vacation escape, my telephone, my computer— plus those I share with my wife, and friends, and relatives, and dogs, and guests, and business associates, and neighbors—all seem to dictate my behavior, my acting, and move me forward in ways unique to each set and setting. 

     Each stage offers different props and lighting and sound levels, and to each I often wear different costumes.  Each has different entrances and exits, and each affords large, small, sometimes indifferent and sometimes exuberant audiences.  Some stages promote my appearances ahead of time, some I sneak into and out of, some I enjoy and others, like the dentist’s chair stage . . . 

     Oh, well, sorry Will.  It was a good idea at the time, I thought: thinking of your words differently.  But, then, wasn’t that perhaps your intent after all?  Ah, onest wilst never know, wilst one?             halalpiar  

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