Running on Empty
Are you running on empty? Does it ever seem to you that something is missing? Deep down inside, is there something “empty”? If so, how have you tried to fill that space? Were you thinking: If only this or that would happen. If only the right someone or something would come along. Then, that empty spot would be filled. Everything would be alright.
Picture two little boys sitting on the floor watching TV. These happen to be my little boys — ages 5 and 3. They are watching “The Wizard of OZ”. At one time, this broadcast was an annual event. I had forgotten that it could be a really scary movie, especially if you were only 3 or 5 years old. So…call me a bad parent if you like. That would be just the half of it.
The boys watched as Dorothy’s house got blown from Kansas to the land of OZ. They watched as she met these “empty” characters. All of them are missing something: Brainless Scarecrow, Hollow Tin Man, Gutless Lion. In order to fill the emptiness, they head off on a journey down the yellow brick road in search of a brain, a heart, courage, and a home.
Then, along comes the Wicked Witch of the West. I could tell that both boys were scared. But when they showed a close-up of the witch’s green face, my son Wayne, age 3, went running from the room and up the stairs: “The Green Witch! The Green Witch”. Of course, this trauma warped him and he missed the rest of the story. (In fact, he might have missed it for the next several years.)
Why had I subjected my kids to this? Well, this story is the only real American fairy tale. It is the story of a journey, of course. And you know that for better or worse, life itself is a journey, one that we all must make whether we want to or not. The thing that makes your life’s journey better rather than worse is to be paying enough attention that when things like meaning, love and purpose break through you are not too busy doing something else.
One of the things that we do, that causes us to miss meaning, love, and purpose is being afraid. My little boy’s fear, no fault of his own, kept him from seeing a good story; just as the Cowardly Lion’s fear causes him to run away or pick fights when he shouldn’t. Fear can blind us to what is going on and cheat us of love.
Long ago, someone wise — maybe he was a wizard in his own right — warned about a fearsome time. Nature is in an uproar. People are confused and distressed like brainless scarecrows. Their hearts are weighed down with worry, like hollow tin men. They are fainting with fear like cowardly lions. People are simply psyched out by stress and fear. It is hard to tell whether this was meant to be a time to come or all the time.
There is a part of your brain that operates on instinct. When you are threatened and in danger it tells you either to run or stand and fight. It is called the “fight or flight” response. This instinct was helpful when we lived in caves. But now, it shuts the rest of your brain down — at the wrong time. Just when you need it the most. Just when you need to see beyond your fears. Just when you need to be open and aware to meaning, love, and purpose.
The wise man tells his listeners that when all this scary stuff is happening, they need to stand up, raise their heads, keep their heads; because their ultimate purpose is about to be revealed. After their long journey, they will reach their destination and become at last what they were meant to be.
That old American fairy tale also points out that there are other things besides fear that can cause us to miss out on life and keep us empty. Things that keep us from being all we can be. One of those is being far too concerned about missing out. Dorothy strolls around her Kansas farmyard wishing that she was “somewhere over the rainbow”. The Scarecrow insists that he needs a brain. The Tin Man is convinced that he needs a heart. The Lion longs for courage. They think that something is missing. They felt empty.
You worry — don’t you? You worry about missing something and, feeling like you are running on empty you try to find some way to fill that space. Some waste their lives by trying too hard to enjoy it. There is this empty spot, so you fill your life with things you feel you have to do or things that you feel you have to have.
One Summer, when my kids were teenagers, I actually did some good parenting. I got us involved in a community theater production of “The Wizard of OZ”. My daughter liked to sing and dance, so they made her a member of the chorus, dressed in green in the land of OZ. I was the Gatekeeper of the Emerald City singing the YO, HO, HO, HA, HA, HA song.
My son Wayne, no longer three years old, but fourteen, was on the stage crew. This allowed him to confront the Green Witch at last. He was in charge of making her sister’s feet curl up in death under Dorothy’s house. Night after night, he watched the Green Witch melt and disappear down through a trap door.
And of course, he was able to see the rest of the story. Sometime, toward the end of the whole production run he said: “You know, it’s funny, but when they were trying to help Dorothy, it was the scarecrow that didn’t have a brain that would do all the planning and figure things out and it was the lion with no courage that would always lead them into action and it was the Tin Man with no heart that was always crying and rusting up.”
“Really?” I said. “So you’re saying that in the end, the wizard didn’t really give them anything. He just helped them see that they already had these things. And what they needed to do was stop worrying about themselves so much and get concerned about someone else like Dorothy and then they were able to find these things in themselves.”
“Yeah- kind of cool.” He said.
And that’s what makes “The Wizard of OZ” not just a great American story, but more or less a great human story. Instead of your own plans and efforts for fulfillment, someone from somewhere else calls you. Someone calls you not in their strength but in weakness and need. Someone calls you out of your self, your fears, your worries and down a road that is broader and wider than the one you thought you were traveling on.
Along the way, you discover something like this: That the most important thing about having a brain is knowing first that you are pretty stupid. That the most important thing about courage is having it, even when you are scared to death. And that the most important thing about having a heart is allowing it to be broken.
So, you are on a journey. Life is a trip, a journey, but you are running on empty. You can be distressed and confused. Your heart can be weighed down with worry. You can be fainting in fear. So much so, that when things like meaning, love, and purpose break through you are too busy with yourself to know it. Or you can answer the call to follow, the call to hit the road no matter what color of brick, and serve a cause above and beyond yourself.
Who knows what will happen at the end of this journey? Maybe we just wake up from a strange and beautiful dream, feeling that we are somehow better for having had it. Maybe we just end up feeling less empty and more fulfilled, content with the knowledge that wherever me may go and whatever we might do we have never really left home.
