Jacob (A rediscovered work in progress)

Jacob loves children's stories.   The kind that begin with “Once upon a time,” and end with “And they lived happily ever after.”  He envies their simplicity and their finality.  Nothing is more appealing to him than a true arrival--an arrival at self-realization, or at happiness, or at purpose.  He loves to read the words “And they lived happily ever after,” because he too wants to live happily ever after.  The characters in his favorite stories do not reach their conclusion through death; they reach their destination and realize it for the rest of their lives.  He does not believe in heaven or hell.  To him, truth and condemnation only exist as far as the integrity or inconsistency of his own personality exists.  He wants to know himself.  In college, he changed his major seven times, each time hoping that he would find the personal and intellectual love of his life, a soul mate for his mind, the perfect bride to his inner person.  Still, he broods over his own mediocrity. 

“My parents were loving, my teachers were encouraging, my friends are supportive.” he says. "And yet, what am I?”  

It is Wednesday morning and he has just finished shaving.  It is common on a Wednesday morning to find Jacob staring at himself in the mirror.  By this day, the fourth of the week, his reflection begins to look familiar, but familiar is not good enough.  He plants his feet at shoulder width, places his hands firmly on either side of his porcelain sink, closes his lips resolutely, and stares straight into the eyes of his reflection.  

“Jacob,” he asserts, he will not back down, “your name is Jacob.”

Next, he waits.  He thinks that if he stares long enough, and with enough purpose, his reflection will concede and become himself.  He imagines himself not only staring, but speaking, speaking with such eloquence, such conviction, that anyone, even he, would have to lay down his disbelief.  But these words always remain in Jacob’s head, even when he is only confronting his bathroom mirror.  

He has waited and stared for 2 minutes now; he lets go of the sink, loosens his jaw, releases his stare, and walks out of the bathroom.  There will be no epiphany today.