'Catharsis is for crap. I want my happy ending now.'*

“Moderation is a memory.
Dive right in and let him send me.
I could take this in doses large enough to kill.”

~ Liz Phair, Johnny Feelgood

Sartre (it always comes back to this guy), in his philosophical novel ‘Nausea’ discusses a concept called the ‘feeling of adventure’. Originally this is based on the conventional definition of the word ‘adventure’ and the main character travels the world trying to capture this feeling. Later, he decides that the feeling of adventure is really a person’s consciousness of the “irreversible march of time” and the rare moments in life when it feels that events and people are truly connected.

This is how I know I am not an existentialist (in case there was any doubt).

I always feel everything is connected to me. I am the center of my world, and if something does not relate to me, it doesn’t stick around long.

Tonight, I watched Grey’s Anatomy, like many other people across America. As usual, I paid particular attention to George. George is the character that I claim as my fictional boyfriend, while my girl friends are fighting over McDreamy and Alex (McAsshole). I like George. He is sweet. He is cute. He is kind.

And tonight, I discovered that not only do I like George; I am George.

This weekend was hard for me. I was celebrating and mourning a strange anniversary- an event that existed in a relationship that didn’t. I prided myself on my behavior regarding this past situation and how much I had grown as a person in the course of one year. I minimized my pain. I celebrated my choices.

And then on my television, George told Meredith that he would never leave her, he would never hurt her, and he would always love her. And instead of telling George something fluffy and nice about how she loved him as a friend but would never love him romantically, Meredith had sex with him.

It hurt me physically.

I know I wasn’t alone in this. I spoke to three different friends who were brimming with similar emotions. But I was the only one of us who looked at the screen and said, ‘This was my life. And it hurt.’

Which is silly, right? Because it’s just a tv show.

But like I said: everything relates to my life. So when other people’s pain reminds me of my own, it’s my pain, too.

Grey’s Anatomy is a greek tragedy for the modern world. It’s cathartic. Sometimes I cry, and then I judge myself for the tears.

The Ancient Greeks didn’t judge themselves.

I guess what this convoluted, cathartic (yeah, I’m writing away my pain) entry has finally twisted itself down to is this:

Let’s not dismiss television. Let’s not say it’s rotting our brains out of our heads. The Greeks had their tragedies, full of downfall of Gods and Royalty. We’re a post-existentialist democracy. We don’t have Gods and Royalty. But we put doctors on a pretty high pedestal. So when their fictional fall makes us cry, it’s good and cleansing. I refuse to feel silly about it.

*title quote attributed to this erudite young woman.