The only performance that matters

all the world is a stage, but who are we behind the curtain?

“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…”

- from the play “As You Like It” by William Shakespeare

I was 14 in my English class when I first heard this speech. Out of Shakespeare’s many works, I assume this one remains quite popular is it’s resonance with the human existence. All of us actors in our own right, different stages, different parts, but acting nonetheless. An idea echoed by Kurt Vonnegut’s “We are who we pretend to be, so we must be careful who we pretend to be”, from his novel Mother Night.

These concepts haunt me. If we are all just pretending and performing, who are we to each other? Are we all co-leads in some sick and twisted life long play?