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Rob Lowe has, seemingly, lived a charmed life. His early life success as a leading man and sex symbol morphed into a profitable career of co-starring in some of the most influential comedies of the last 30 years (Wayne’s World and Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me) and in some of the most acclaimed television series of the same time period (in Parks & Rec and, of course, as Sam Seaborn in The West Wing). And Rob Lowe would agree. But, as he puts it in his autobiography, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, his blessings would have more to do with his attaining sobriety, finding and holding onto a wife whom he loved, and together giving birth to two sons. Lowe’s life story speaks to the ways in which our lives rarely work out the ways we think or hope they will—and that, oftentimes, that is a good thing.
From a very early age, Lowe wanted to be an actor. And, at a very early age, he became one. His early filmography—starring roles in The Outsiders, St. Elmo’s Fire, and About Last Night among them—and box-office success made him a leader of the so called “Brat Pack,” and set him on a trajectory for international superstardom. He had everything he had ever wanted—and yet, he did not. Lowe famously created controversy with his sex tape fiasco, and, worse, developed a terrible drinking problem. This is the old story of the guy who seems like he has it all, only he doesn’t. It’s only cliche because it’s true. Only once he sobered up did his personal life turn around—right at the same time that his career as a movie star declined. Lowe describes this as a trade he would make every time.
Stories like Lowe’s hit a nerve not because of the unreal cameos (though there are plenty—the whole Sheen/Estevez family, Tom Cruise, Patrick Swayze, etc.) nor because of intriguing details on aspects of his work that are beloved.* Stories like his hit a nerve because they are true to life. All of us have roads never travelled, decisions we never made, things we chose not to do. It is natural to regret, and wonder how things would have turned out. In Lowe’s story, however, we see the blessing of the mundane, the everyday, the normal, and the curses of the fantastical realization of our dreams. As the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.
*It is a shame that the producers of The West Wing did not figure out how to keep Lowe as Seaborn. Seasons 5-7 are definitely worse than seasons 1-4, and most chalk that up to writer/creator/showrunner Aaron Sorkin leaving the show. And that’s true, though only to a point: while the writing suffered, the political nuance on the show was greatly strengthened—I’m not sure Sorkin could have pulled off the presidential campaign of Seasons 6-7 as well as his replacements did. The true reason the show was never as good, I believe, is because Sam was gone. Far more than Josh Lyman, and even more than Toby, Sam was the heartbeat of The West Wing. He was the only true idealist of a crew that was supposed to be idealistic. Without Sam, the show failed to capture that same emotion.
Contentment is an underrated virtue. As Ross Douthat has argued, we live in a decadent society. Our films are remakes, our political ideas are retreads, and everything seems stuck. We either pine for what we don’t have or we slothfully gorge on whatever is placed before us. To be content, however, is none of this. Contentment is striving for what is good, right, moral, true, and beautiful, and resting in the results of such striving, whether it was what you had hoped for or not. Lowe’s story teaches us this. As do our own stories. We would do well to learn from them.