One of the reasons I am enjoying this season of Succession is its character study of Kendall Roy. In the same way I immediately identified with Don Draper - recognizing the artifice of his suburban life and rebelling against it - I saw Ken from the outset. The ambition, the drive, and the crippling self-doubt, of wanting, desperately, to prove that he was The Man. Now that he has been neutered, stripped of a future ("it ain't gonna be me" he assures younger sister Shiv when discussing who will take over for their dad) but kept within shouting distance of the brass ring that will elude him, it is no surprise he feels trapped.
It is an odd thing to act as a glorified assistant, fetching pills and escorting executives into meetings, while also being a trusted advisor to the person in charge. I have been there too. I worked for a powerful person whose coffee order I knew (two-thirds french vanilla, one-third decaf) and for whom I was the person standing curbside when the muckety-muck du jour arrived to greet and bring into the building. I then seamlessly took a seat at that table to frame the agenda, fill in the substance behind the broad strokes, and kibbitz after-the-fact on how to proceed.
It is heady and easy to get lost in the bubble of privilege that envelops you. But what I learned the hard way was how quickly the bubble can burst. Once it does, unlike Kendall, whose dad thoughtfully places an anti-suicide barrier on the roof of the Waystar building (just in case Kendall gets any dumb ideas) there is no one there to brace you, you're just left beating your head against that (glass) wall, pondering what kind of life you will have when your ambition has been thwarted, your dreams dashed, and your future is just a succession of the same day, over and over.
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