Monday, April 14, 2025

Life Is Not A Spectator Sport: A Weekend Reflection

It's Jay Gatsby Month. 100 years ago, April 1925, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was published by Charles Scribner's and Sons, so you may see his story pop up a few times in the next couple weeks.

[Spoiler Alert: All of these Gatsby references assume you already know the story.]

They say that cats have nine lives; we only have one. This singular chance at existence demands that we be more than passive observers. We can choose to sit and watch from the audience, or choose deliberate engagement with the world. The theme “Life is not a spectator sport”--a theme I've reiterated many times over the course of a lifetime--captures this urgency to step beyond the sidelines and shape our own stories through action and courage. 


Whether we're chasing dreams like Jay Gatsby, or standing against injustice as history’s rebels did, the essence of living lies in participation, not detachment. In one sense, this call to action is a plea for purpose, reminding us that life--fleeting and finite--gains meaning only when we dare to act, risk, and truly live.


This idea resonates deeply in literature and life, emphasizing courage, agency, and the pursuit of meaning through action.


In Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Gatsby is an embodiment of this theme. He's refused to remain a bystander in his own story. Born into poverty, he rejects the sidelines, reinventing himself as a wealthy man to win Daisy’s love. His relentless pursuit shows a life lived boldly, even if flawed. By way of contrast, Nick Carraway, the novel’s narrator, is the lingering spectator, observing Gatsby’s world with detachment. His passivity contrasts with Gatsby’s drive, suggesting that true vitality lies in taking risks, not just witnessing others’ dreams.


The story is more nuanced than that though. The picture Fitzgerald paints is more grim. The American Dream isn't all that it's cracked up to be. There's a power hierarchy in life. The lower classes believe in upward mobility. This is America, where anything is possible. What many don't see is that when you rise above your place,  you become a target. You're a clay pigeon thrust skyward and the uber-rich delight in taking potshots at you, shattering your illusions, putting you back in your place.


Even so, we're not advocating that you abandon your dreams. Quite the contrary. This is an appeal to take action, despite a possibility of frustration, futility and failure. The battle is not always to the strong nor the race to the swift, time and chance happen to them all.


In his song "Father and Son" Cat Stevens wrote this terribly sad line: "You may still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not." When we've abandoned our dreams, what is left? 


For all sad words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are these, 'It might have been.'

--John Greenleaf Whittier


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