In our society, possessions define you: you have or have not. I have not often felt the distinction of ownership, unfortunately. I have two younger sisters and busybody parents who commandeer my time, my focus and my wardrobe. Without my approval, my favorite boots starred on the cover of my sister’s latest single. When I am home, I anticipate at least one family member needing me at every turn. I adore my family, I really really do; I just yearn to be and do alone.
In a boundaryless family, I learned to make personal space with personal obsession. Every three to five months, I adopt a new hyperfixation. Whatever it is, Winnie the Pooh, William Shakespeare, “Twilight,” John Mayer, I fixate until I feel I own it. I make a domain where I am alone and affirmingly self-involved. As the eldest sibling, the expectation is that I can be dependable to everyone and everything at all times — I find it overwhelming. So, I drown my brain in other matters.
This past fall, I moved out of my parents’ home and into my first apartment. Living with my family was special, but being home during the pandemic rendered me around and available all day every day. By October, I was at a breaking point; I needed to own my life. I moved, but living in a new home in a new city in 2020 was not miraculously free of anxiety. I was burnt out often and easily, and thus, I was ripe for some fresh coping-mania. Suddenly, out of nowhere, and almost like destiny, Jim Carrey became my Linus blanket.
Jim Carrey’s vocation is to “free people from concern,” and as with most things, Jim Carrey succeeds. I find his soul addictive; I never know what exactly I’m going to get from him. He is unpredictable, dynamic and wholly inventive. But through all his avatars, he reminds us that life can and should be unscripted and playful. The multimillion-dollar man is my relaxant. His free spirit imprinted on my psyche and made me a more hopeful person.
Coincidentally, my favorite movie is “The Truman Show,” starring Jim Carrey. Carrey plays a man involuntarily starring in his own reality TV show. He has been broadcast live to the whole world since in utero. Everyone Truman trusts is an actor and everything he knows is an invention. He was legally adopted by a television corporation and has been playing the character of “Truman” ever since. Truman dreams of exploration, of spontaneity, but the showrunner maintains his notion of the “True Man” — a family man with simple aspirations and a normal job (he’s in insurance). Christof, Truman’s creator, will not let his character deviate from the script. “The Truman Show” is a story of self-actualization, about escaping monotony and breaking societal molds to live honestly.
Carrey repeats himself often, and one of his recurrent phrases is, “step through the Truman door,” i.e. take a big risk with unknown possibilities, where he references the final scene. Truman rejects Christof’s conceived life and chooses the unknown beyond. Truman sails across the fake harbor away from the only world he knows determined to see the world, and his boat crashes into the wall of the studio. The painted horizon is concrete evidence of his illusive captivity. In his despair, Truman finds a new path. He walks against the faux skyline to a set of stairs that lead to a door. Truman steps into the black, out of predictability and into possibility. The ending guarantees nothing but offers everything.
I recently rewatched “The Truman Show” and was struck by how much the story of Truman aligns with my story of moving out. I, too, left behind the world I knew for a pile of unknowns; I pursued independence. Like I do with personal obsessions, I drew boundaries around myself to indulge in what I want for my life. Without guidance, I begin to plot a life without a blueprint. The goal is fulfillment. And it is in large part thanks to Jim Carrey that I am now comfortable with unpredictability. “So you step through the door not knowing what’s on the other side — and what’s on the other side is everything,” Carrey said. In packing up and leaving home, I stepped into infinite possibility. And I love it here.