Being an Extra

In a play or a movie, there are always a leading character, a few supporting characters, and a bunch of extras. When Titanic was played, everyone focused on Jack and Rose. In Smallville, the story tells us about Clark Kent. The Da Vinci Code, there go Robert Langdon. Even U2 stands for Bono. They are the ones who keep the game rolling. They are the ones the camera’s pointed most of the time.

In your life, YOU are the lead character. You are the most important actor of your very own movie. But there are times when you become a supporting actor. It’s when you fall in love and she takes your position as the number one. In that case, prepare to be either an outcast or a viceroy.

The sad truth is that almost all the good guys in this world are extras. They come and go within seconds, appear and disappear. They play a small amount of role, sometimes it’s extremely important but most times it’s just a worthless part. The others do not see their uniqueness. They can’t, unless there is something going on to open their eyes. Therefore, it’s such a rare opportunity for extras to turn into a major actor.

It’s mysterious to be an extra. You achieve a tiny part of publicity, hardly any camera, but a moment of satisfaction. Is an extra an outcast? Why it is so many people in this world feel like they’re just an extra of their own lives? Is being an extra a good thing?
Do the extras feel lonely all the time? But do they?

Sometimes I watch other people living their lives. A small child plays a ding dong machine while her baby sitter standing next to her watching her dully. A grandmother smiles seeing her grandsons running in the park. A young couple is hugging with each other, holding hands and never let go. They look at each other’s eyes and smile tenderly. A woman sleeps beneath a blanket while Sarah McLachlan’s Angel is being played. The melody caresses her ear softly and makes her tears flow. A big man works in construction at noon and comes home to his wife and children in the evening. A mom hangs a Christmas ornament emblazoning her purple door. A friend pats me on my shoulder, grins happily and is wishing me a Happy New Year.

I walk away and keep thinking which one of them lives as an extra. That baby sitter seemed hopeless and boring, but she might just have a bad day. That woman in the bed seemed sad and lonely, but it might just been happy tears. Then it just strikes me. They are not the extras. I am.

Being an extra is good. It’s purposeful. Robbie Williams won’t have his concert happened if it weren’t for his band and dancers. Seth Cohen won’t be dating Summer Roberts if it weren’t for Trey forcing Ryan to steal the car in the first place. Harry Potter wouldn’t be existed if JK Rowling’s sister had laughed the first time she read the book to her.

Being an extra is good. It keeps the story going.