Life lessons from Saturday Night Live
On soaking it up.
I’m finding myself settling into midlife. I’ve officially moved past the initial denial (childhood doesn’t count, so if the clock starts at 20 I’m really only a third of the way through, right?), made a brief pit stop in bargaining (reading a little too much Peter Attia on longevity), and am now finding myself, finally, reaching something loosely resembling acceptance. I’m becoming more comfortable with the idea that this is all finite and that I am, in a sense, half-way through. And that the clock simply will not, cannot, despite my best efforts, slow down.
I’m trying to use this knowledge to stay in the moment, to resist the urge to ruminate on the past or wander into the imagined future, as I am prone to do. I’ve even been feeling a pull back to meditation, once almost a habit, but one which annoyingly ebbs and flows as I let myself get distracted by other shinier objects all around. I look at my navy square meditation cushion, which I bought at my first multi-day meditation retreat, and can almost feel a literal pull, reminding me of its power if I would only give it a little bit of my time.
I’ve been thinking about how you can simultaneously know exactly what it takes to be happy, and still struggle to actually do it. How all of life’s most important lessons are so annoyingly simple — the what so obvious and the how so elusive.
That happiness is about living in the moment, and appreciating what you have. That fulfillment comes from being of service to others, in ways that are both authentic to us and that also require a level of discomfort, of sacrifice, in the good sense of the word. That constantly moving the goal posts on yourself is a recipe for great achievement and perpetual dissatisfaction, because it’s never really about getting what you want, but about learning to want what you get. That it’s all about relationships, and connection, and love. That true happiness is and always has been a choice. Yes, sure, of course. But how?
How do we rewire our brains away from the evolutionary default of always wanting more? More money, more time, more status, just more. How do we convince our reptilian brains that we don’t live in the world of scarcity for which we evolved? That the things that make us anxious today are largely made up. How do we find ways to live more naturally and in tune with our human needs within this bizarre modern concrete jungle we’ve built around us? Bear with me while I take you on a hopefully fun tangent which I’ll call: why having kids is like being on SNL.
I’m a big fan of podcast interviews with actors and comedians whose work I love, so naturally I’ve listened to many a Smartless episode. In a recent one with Andy Samberg, the crew asked a question that they seem to ask every guest who was once an a cast member on Saturday Night Live — some version of “Did you appreciate at the time how incredible it was to be on SNL?”
In this episode, Jason Bateman asked “Was there ever a moment where it got emotional for you on SNL, either your first performance, or your last one?” To which Andy Samberg responded “Oh my god, the whole time. The feeling of I’m living inside of actual dreams I’ve had.”
How amazing, I thought, to be so aware of how special an experience is as you’re having it, and then presumably to be able to appreciate and relish it all the more. In the end, that’s really the best we can hope for in life.
That sentiment stood in stark contrast with another interview I heard a while back with Rainn Wilson of Dwight Schrute fame — one of my all-time favorite characters from one of my all-time favorite shows. Dan Harris was asking Rainn Wilson about his time on The Office, and Rainn admitted that he felt huge regret about the fact that he didn’t actually enjoy it at the time. During all nine seasons of it, he was stuck in a place of wanting more.
“When I was on The Office, we were getting Emmy nominations. I was getting Emmy nominations. I was making a lot of money. I was working with beautiful people, making great comedy, on a terrific show. It doesn’t get better than that. Rainn, let that be enough. And it wasn’t enough for me. And I was like ‘Well, I want this other movie, and I want a studio deal, and I want to have a first look deal, and how come I’m not getting paid for this…” That hungry ghost part of myself was really activated.
I struggled with that for a lot of The Office, and frankly, I spent a lot of it really unhappy because I was just trying to get the next thing or the bigger thing, or Why am I not as big a movie start as Will Ferrell or Jack Black? And comparing, and all the things us humans do, and it wasn’t enough and I wish it had just been enough. I wish I could have just been like I’m just gonna revel in these nine years of playing this amazing character with this amazing group of people and I couldn’t do it."
How vulnerable, and real, and tragic. To look back on an experience that could have been, arguably should have been, amazing and rich and full, and realize too late that you squandered it by focusing on whatever else you could have had.
And so I’ve been thinking about this in the context of my own life, and my own midlife. What would it look like to live in full awareness of all the ways in which I’m living the life of my dreams?
In some ways my life bears no resemblance to that of a cast member on SNL. In other ways, it kind of does. Working full time while conceiving, gestating, birthing, and raising multiple little humans is a nonstop, high stakes, juggling act. It’s at once magical and frustrating, exhausting and life-giving. It requires a near-complete reorientation of your lifestyle and priorities. And it’s also in a very real sense, for me at least, a core childhood dream come true.
In fact, there are so many aspects of my life that are easy to take for granted in the moment, but which at some point in my life represented a deep, unfulfilled wish. How many times have I thought ‘If I could only have this thing, accomplish this milestone, get this job, that would be enough.’ I haven’t necessarily achieved all of those things, but I’ve gotten many of them, maybe even most, and then often moved on quickly to the next thing on my list.
I’m trying, instead, to consciously remember them, and let myself be grateful for them all over again — all the goals and wishes that have come true, all the ways in which I, too, am living inside of actual dreams I’ve had. I’m taking the wise advice to let this be enough, because it so clearly is.