I almost hate the fact that I spend twenty minutes looking through my previous postings before I start to write a new entry; I've become so self-referential that I actually need to make links to older postings in the context of new postings (of course, this is one of those "multi-part series" entries, so I can probably excuse myself this one time).
Now that I've gotten that out of the way... here. That post actually links back to another one that's somewhat older, but the points that I make in both of them regarding art (as communication of... something - an idea, an feeling, what have you - and that this desire to communicate, at least with regards to great art, is borne out of some terrible despair, or loneliness, or grief, or some kind of traditionally "negative" emotion. This, as many before me have said, is why comedies don't typically get nominated for, or win, Best Picture Oscars) will prove to be important shortly.
I have long been of the opinion that I am destined, for good or for ill (and that more or less depends on what you personally consider positive or negative), to be alone, well, forever. Not like Emily Dickinson alone, but just lacking that person whose presence improves everything, that "significant other," if you will. I didn't necessarily see a problem with it, because, as I've said before, great art comes from a need to channel terrible, all-consuming feelings in a way that doesn't result in, well, death or psychotic depression. I figured I was more meant for fiction than life.
Maybe I was wrong.
The issue that comes up here is similar to one that Roger Waters posed when he was interviewed on the Dark Side of the Moon DVD that I bought years and years ago. Like with most every other successful band in the history of popular music, Floyd apparently didn't expect the album to blow up as thoroughly as it did. Waters said that he found himself faced with an interesting problem, that he had to decide, now that he had gobs and gobs of money flying his way, whether or not he truly was a socialist (apparently a crisis that faces many people once they stumble into some money). Would he remain true to his ideals, or not?
I find myself in a similar state. Do I hold fast to ideals that have managed to get me, well, not all that far, but at least this far, or do I junk them in favor of the new condition in which I find myself (or, the mysterious third option, do I just do what comes naturally and make ridiculous comedy while, potentially, being happy... at the same time)?
I know what the answer is, don't worry.