The reality series “Survivor” hosted by Jeff Probst first aired in May 2000. For those folks completely out of tune with pop culture, the premise of the series, much like its name, is to see who will become the sole survivor.
A group of strangers, usually around eighteen, is unceremoniously dumped on a deserted island with little besides the clothes on their backs. The participants are divided into tribes, but individuals still face the choice between forming alliances or working solo. No matter the individual strategy, members are faced with hunger, difficult physical challenges, lack of privacy, incompatible personality types, homesickness, unpredictable weather, and the threat of wild animals.
Sound fun? Not to me. So why has the show lasted for more than 32 seasons? Why have over 478 people subjected themselves to the difficulties of Survivor? Why of the 478 plus participants, have 79 of them competed in multiple seasons? There is an easy answer; the $1,000,000 prize awarded to the ultimate survivor. Some say money is a great motivator.
Having watched the show for the first several seasons, I witnessed the stress of the Tribal Council. The process always reminded me of Charlie Brown plucking petals off a flower saying, “she loves me, she loves me not….” Each individual casts a vote for the person they think should leave the island, the votes are tallied, and the person with the most votes says a tearful good-bye. They return home to hot running water, real edible food, friends and family, and their own comfortable bed. Depending on perspective, one might call that winning.
One Christmas we gave the Survivor board game to our children, we thought it would be fun to play as a family. We (I in particular) were wrong. Guess who was voted off the island first? Yep. Yours truly. Betrayed by my own precious, sweet, innocent children. Never. Again. While I cannot say what became of that game, I can say mom refused to ever subject herself to such treachery at the hands of her own offspring again. Slipping into the third person here says much about the scars I still carry.
Despite the actual Survivor contestants’ motivation to stay on the island, and my devastation over being voted off by my own children, there are days I wish someone would vote me off whatever island it is I happen to be on. You know, those days where everything that can go wrong has, and you get to the point where you just don’t want to play anymore?
When I am working on an immensely complicated project with a looming deadline, my desk phone rings non-stop, everyone needs something from me, and none of the answers are easy, I often find myself thinking, “Would someone please vote me off the island?” Then I look around and discover, I’m completely alone in my distress; there is no one to around free me from the exile.
There are other times I really wish someone would vote me off the island: for example, when my feelings are wounded by someone close to me, when circumstances are spiraling out of control and there’s nothing I can do to change course, when my wants exceed my budget (I tend to have extravagant taste), when we go, go, go and I need to slooooow down, and when I am just completely fed up with life. Can anyone else relate?
The good news is; I don’t have to wait for Tribal Council. At the end of those tough days, I can leave the island and escape to the solitude of my abode where there is always food, always someone who loves me, always bubble bath, always a DVR full of my favorite shows and usually a bottle of my favorite wine. If the drama just so happens to occur within the confines of my four walls, well, that’s why I run, to get off the island, even if it’s only a temporary reprieve.
So, should our paths ever cross, and I appear distressed, please do not hesitate to cast your vote for me!
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
“Warrior Princess”