Life of Wry

Philip Seymour Hoffman

Oh man, no. Not him. I loved that guy.

I was so struck by the news this morning of PSH’s death, and am so, so sorry he’s gone.

I didn’t really know him. Obviously. It’s not like I know anything about him, just what I’ve seen on the screen and read. But, there was something about him.. something about his face, his size, his unkemptness, that made me really like him. He seemed willing to be all in. Willing to be exposed. I may not really know him, but to me he was: Balls out. Smart. Vulnerable. Messy. Willing.

Acting, of course. I liked the way he nailed his characters. People called him a courageous actor. In real life, he seemed generous and gentle. Even in rage, there was a decency. Even in his intense weakness, there was a resolve.

But it looks like that resolve fell short.

He seemed brutally human, not in-your-face human, demanding you to take notice, but unapologetic. Not like people who make a living out of their neuroses, or whose personas are built around their vulnerabilities and insecurities and it’s all about them. He was just human, and flawed.  I felt like he was honest in his struggles, knew his demons, tried to shore himself up against them, especially the one.

But ultimately didn’t.

It just feels like.. damn. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t fight it enough, couldn’t fight them back..demon addictions. He couldn’t be lucid and present enough in that moment to say No, I’m not going to do that, there are people who love me. Maybe he didn’t love himself enough. Maybe he didn’t love his life enough. The good wasn’t good enough and heroin beat him.

He succumbed, he knew he might, he feared he might, or feared he would. He knew he might not be there for his kids.

Feel so bad for the people who must have loved him, especially his mom and kids, who were so trumped by his addictions.

He put himself out there, he was an insightful, nuanced, yes, courageous actor. He was intelligent, even brilliant, maybe even genius. He knew how to reach the darkness of his characters and express it fully.

I thought he was brave in his humanity, brave in his acting.

But he wasn’t brave enough.

It takes a special kind of courage to stay present enough to know the enemy, to recognize it when it comes bidding, to fight it off because there is a greater, sweeter purpose. Maybe the sweetness is a child, maybe the greater purpose is your own damn self. Maybe you’re worth fighting for. Maybe life is.

If there’s sweetness, why isn’t that enough? Holding your child. The feeling of warm sun on your face. The smell of pine in dry mountain air. The sound of a banjo. Slow dancing in the arms of someone you love. Whatever it is, what makes a person forget those things? Because, you know, it’s all there is, this is all we get, this one walk on the planet at this one moment in time.

Whatever makes a person forget those things, i’m so sorry.

People with addictions, I have a question: Is it not a choice? At any given moment, with clarity, can a person say no, if only in that moment, no, I’m not going to do that? And isn’t the challenge to just keep making that choice? Are they not the most courageous among us–those who manage to keep the demons at bay by saying, in that moment, no?

I just don’t know what a person who is addicted does if he wants to live.

I’m sorry because I really liked him.

It’s just achingly sad.

RIP PSH.