“Everyone is the protagonist of their own life.”
We often hear this phrase as encouragement to take charge of our lives.
But how true is it?
What, exactly, does it mean to be a protagonist?
If it simply means experiencing one’s life through one’s own subjective perspective, then perhaps everyone is the protagonist of their own life.
But that definition raises another question.
Wouldn’t the same be true of other conscious animals?
And what does being the protagonist of one’s own experience tell us about the place we occupy among others?
These questions reveal a peculiar absurdity in human self-perception—and, sometimes, a tragedy.
1. Consciousness, Subjective Experience, and the Protagonist
A protagonist is traditionally the central character in a story.
What, then, does it mean to be the protagonist of one’s own life?
First, consider consciousness and subjective experience.
In this essay, I use consciousness to mean the condition of having experiences—of sensing, feeling, or perceiving something.
By subjective perspective, I mean the first-person standpoint from which those experiences appear to the being having them.
We experience what we see, hear, feel, and think through our own subjective perspective.
When we remember our past or imagine our future, we are invariably present in the life we experience.
If we call the being who undergoes these experiences the protagonist, then every conscious being can be considered the protagonist of its own life.
The same reasoning extends beyond humans.
Dogs experience the world in their own way, as do monkeys.
A deer living in the wild senses its surroundings, detects danger, and responds to what it encounters.
If that deer has subjective experiences, it too might be called the protagonist of its own life.
Yet elsewhere in the forest, predators are hunting, other animals are pursuing their own activities, and natural processes continue beyond the deer’s awareness.
Even if the deer is shot by a hunter, whatever it experiences before losing consciousness still belongs to its own subjective life.
In that sense, the deer might even be the protagonist of a tragedy.
Being the protagonist of one’s own life and having that life unfold as one wishes are two entirely different propositions.
Subjective experience also confers no special position within the environment in which a being lives.
The same is true of human beings.
2. Subjective Perspectives and Social Roles
Each of us experiences life through our own subjective perspective.
Just as I have hopes, others have hopes of their own.
Just as I make judgments according to my experiences and values, others make theirs according to different experiences and values.
There are many conceptions of justice and many forms of happiness.
If I am free, so are others.
Just as I live my own life, others live theirs.
Something of great importance to me may attract little interest from another person.
Conversely, someone else may devote their life to something I barely know exists.
We live among people whose subjective perspectives continually intersect.
In the world as I experience it, I am always present.
But if I look at the people and circumstances with which I am involved from perspectives other than my own, I find many individuals playing different roles.
I am one of them.
I may occupy a central position in one group while being just one among many in another.
Being at the center of my own subjective experience and being a central figure in the world I perceive are two different things.
What happens when someone acts among others without recognizing this distinction?
3. A Member of the Corps de Ballet at Center Stage
Imagine life as a theatrical performance.
Consider classical ballet.
There is a prima ballerina, there are soloists, and there are dancers who form the corps de ballet.
Behind the scenes are the stage crew, and in the auditorium sits the audience.
Each has a different role in making the performance possible.
Who is the prima ballerina? Who belongs to the corps de ballet?
The dancers know their assigned roles. The audience can see the arrangement as well.
Now imagine a dancer who belongs to the corps de ballet but has no real awareness of being one member of the ensemble.
This dancer hears the music, sees the other performers, and senses the audience in the auditorium.
Within the theater as experienced through the dancer’s own subjective perspective, the dancer is always present.
Yet the dancer pays little attention to how the other performers or the audience perceive their place in the production.
The fact that the dancer experiences the theater from a personal perspective gradually becomes confused with the idea that the theater itself revolves around that dancer.
And so, without recognizing their place in the corps de ballet, the dancer steps into the center of the stage as though they were the prima ballerina.
One member of the corps de ballet steps into the spotlight, believing themselves to be the prima ballerina.
To the dancer, the movement feels entirely natural.
But the other performers and the audience know that this person is a member of the corps de ballet.
How does the scene appear to those watching the performance as a whole?
There is something unmistakably absurd about it.
And the dancer remains unaware of that absurdity.
Everyone else can see a version of the dancer that the dancer cannot see.
4. The Absurdity of Youth and the Tragedy of a Professional
Now suppose the dancer is a young child.
During a ballet school recital, a child assigned to the ensemble might become so caught up in the role of the prima ballerina that they step into the center of the stage.
The teacher and other dancers may be startled. The audience may laugh.
Yet the mistake might be received with affectionate amusement.
Above all, the child’s future still holds enormous possibilities.
With years of learning, practice, and experience, that child might someday become a principal dancer.
Youth and confidence often go well together.
Overestimating one’s present position can sometimes become a source of ambition and growth.
But what if the dancer belongs to a professional ballet company?
Imagine someone who has spent years performing in the corps de ballet and has consistently been assigned ensemble roles.
One day, almost without thinking, that dancer steps into the center of the stage as though they were the prima ballerina.
In a professional production, this could be a serious departure from the choreography, potentially disrupting the entire performance. Depending on the circumstances, it might even damage the dancer’s career.
And the dancer remains unaware of having misunderstood their own position.
Everyone around them recognizes an ensemble dancer, while the dancer behaves quite naturally as though they were the principal performer.
To those watching, the scene is absurd. For the dancer, its consequences could be tragic.
Something similar can happen in human life.
During adolescence and early adulthood, our abilities, possibilities, and eventual positions in society remain uncertain.
As we grow older, however, we learn, accumulate experience, and encounter success and failure.
Through these experiences, we acquire increasing amounts of information about our abilities, aptitudes, relationships, and the positions we have reached.
Some of the possibilities that once lay before us have already taken shape as actual abilities and achievements.
Meanwhile, the time available to develop new possibilities inevitably grows shorter.
What happens if, in the second half of life, someone continues to overestimate their position and remains unable to recognize themselves as one among many?
The discrepancy between self-perception and reality may affect relationships, decisions, and opportunities for happiness.
And throughout all this, time continues to pass.
An exaggerated view of oneself that was once tolerated, and might even have encouraged growth, can become a source of unhappiness later in life.
A dancer continues performing as though they were the prima ballerina, unaware of their actual position.
And the performance approaches its final curtain.
But how do we ourselves appear to the audience on the stages where we perform?
5. The Gap Between Self-Perception and the Standards of Self-Worth
When a member of the corps de ballet steps into the center of the stage believing themselves to be the prima ballerina, the dancer is unaware of the discrepancy between their position and their behavior.
But how might someone respond when confronted with information revealing such a discrepancy?
Here lies another problem.
For someone who places great value on being exceptional, discovering that they are simply one among many may feel like a reduction in their own worth.
I ought to be more important.
I belong at the center of the stage.
When a person attaches their sense of worth to such an image, information about their actual position may be interpreted in ways that preserve that image.
A failure to recognize one’s position can thus become reinforced by a reluctance to accept it.
And the more firmly a person holds to that standard of worth, the harder it may become to revise their self-perception.
But this raises a more fundamental question.
Why should standing at the center of the stage be a condition for proving one’s worth?
A member of the corps de ballet has experiences particular to that role.
There may be joy in creating a performance with fellow dancers.
There may also be pleasure in dancing itself.
The value of those experiences to the person living them cannot be determined solely by theatrical rank.
Yet if being the prima ballerina becomes the standard of personal worth, accepting oneself as a member of the ensemble becomes painful.
The same standard may also make it difficult to recognize a reality that conflicts with the desired self-image.
Overestimating one’s position is one problem. Making that position the measure of one’s worth is another.
Where these two problems overlap, we find the absurdity and tragedy of people who cannot accept themselves as one among many.
6. Self-Acceptance and the Beginning of Happiness
After considering all this, one question remains.
Suppose we accept that we are simply one among many. Where, then, might happiness be found?
I suspect the answer may be closer than we think.
Consider the ballet once more.
The spotlight shines on the prima ballerina.
As a member of the corps de ballet, I have my own place on the stage.
The music plays.
The other dancers are moving.
And I am dancing too.
Once I understand and accept my place in the ensemble, the stage may begin to look different.
I may discover pleasure in dancing itself.
I may find satisfaction in creating a performance alongside others.
If I wish to pursue another role, I can begin from where I stand.
What I enjoy, what I desire, and how I choose to live will depend on the life I wish to lead.
I can recognize my present position, embrace the person I am, and follow my own path.
When I let go of the belief that being one among many diminishes my worth, the question of how I wish to live my life may emerge anew.
In the second half of life, the time remaining becomes increasingly precious.
One can spend that time clinging to an image of oneself as someone exceptional, seeking a position that corresponds to that image.
Or one can embrace reality and pursue the life one wishes to live from where one stands.
These are profoundly different ways of approaching life.
To acknowledge that I am one among many.
To embrace that person and walk my own path.
Perhaps such self-acceptance is where happiness begins.
I am one among many.
What, exactly, is wrong with that?
I am content with it.
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