So, I went to see the Lorax tonight with a couple of good friends. Not immediately my first choice, but considering it is the top movie this week despite it's 57% rotten tomatoes rating, I went. Immediately I sized up this animated childrens movie as boring and unoriginal comparing the animation and storyline to that of it's superior, Pixar. I cringed at the opening song sequence and oddly dis-proportioned characters and objects in the film (so un-Pixar like). I rolled my eyes at the two main coming of age characters (somewhere between 12 and 20, maybe?) and their simplistic love story. And Betty White, really? She was so, last Super-Bowl season.
Then Ed Helms came in and changed everything.
And I take back what I said earlier, because you can't really say those things about a movie that made you cry.
The Lorax turned out to be quite a multi-faceted movie bringing up a few different talking points (and cringing points for some of my friends). One could debate the weighty political/ economic message of the movie and go on and on about Helms' musical tribute to corruption of modern capitalism.One could also spend quite a bit of time comparing the environmental curriculum to that of movies of an earlier era like Ferngully (this is all just propaganda, right?). But, really what I'd rather focus on is what happens in the last few minutes of the movie, because that is where bipartisan lines cease to divide and the real beauty is found.
I don't know what it is about seeing a film about the end of someone's life that I find so moving. A movie in which someone dies and there is some tribute paid to their life, whether good or bad, large or small, is always particularly touching. I don't like death, to be honest with you, and I don't have some creepy fascination with the death or the pain that is associated with it. What I do love, thought, is the examination of a life lived. What is more emotionally riveting than looking at and celebrating the fullness of a person's life?
I can't say for sure that the end of "The Lorax" was the end of Helms' character's life, there is nothing to really indicate this at all. But there is a specific examination, of sorts, that the Lorax gives of his life. Helms' character, the Once-ler, has lived a life full of regret, and it is quite apparent throughout the movie that he is greatly ashamed of the decisions he made, decisions that have brought about a lasting consequence to the characters around him. Essentially he breaks a promise, and the end result is caos.
But, that's not the whole of the story. I think the great thing about this film is it's ability to inter weave one story with another, revealing bits of plot one small portion at a time until slowly it brings us to one final resplendent conclusion.
So here we are again at the end of the movie, standing outside on old house watching an old unkept Once-ler water his new found landscape. Enter the Lorax. He has returned to express his deep found gratitude to Once-ler for finally keeping his promise.
It's at this part that I couldn't quite keep it all together anymore, it's this part in every movie that just get's me.
So what does all of this mean? I can watch a movie about a man that has a complete breakdown over the fact that he may die of cancer and still retain a straight face, but, watch a big yellow mustache tell a guy in a pink scarf "gee, thanks" and it's waterworks. It's all of this life lived stuff that I'm still trying to figure out, in the movies and in my own life.
I think I love these life reflective movies so much because I desire so desperately to live a life worth celebrating. I want to look back on my life as an old woman and not be filled with the regret of not living as fully as I had intended. But how do I get there without missing the essential steps? This brings me to the place where I have found myself struggling for quite a while now. What do I do with my life? I've found myself recently at an all defining crossroad, a point in my journey where the next few decisions will drastically shape the rest of my life. And I can't move forward.
A barrage of questions keep swirling around in my head; "what do you want to do, what are you good at, what are you passionate about, what is going to make you happy?" And wouldn't I really just like to have the good life without having to work another day in my life? Isn't that the answer we're probably all looking for?
But, watching movies like "Braveheart" has taught me that, in life, we either settle for the ok things, or we fight for the greater things.
And that has become the pivotal factor for me, it's not so much what I do, it's how hard I'm willing to work for it. Good things don't come to those who wait, they come to those who work hard.
And this really goes hand in hand with something Dr. Seuss was trying to say through this movie:
"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."
So, care greatly, make good decisions and work hard. It seems like this is at least a good start to a greater life.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Metaphors for Life: Running.
Running, for me, has always held the most metaphors for life. Almost every time I run I discover parallels to things I am going through; I made one such discovery today.
I haven't been running in a few weeks now, and I recently decided to pick it back up again during spring break. I am always amazed at how my body functions. Muscle memory and endurance, my body never forgets these things. Once I do start running again, the first week or so is usually pretty pathetic. I spend my time striving, grasping, pushing to even get one mile. Then one day, out of nowhere, something breaks and I run 10.
Ok, maybe not 10, I actually lost track of the laps I ran. I had listened to all of the album "Nothing Left To Lose" by Mat Kearney and gone back to listen to "All I Need" about 5 more times. So, how ever long that takes, that's as far as I ran.
And all because my body resilient.
It's is able to, after all this time, remember where it left off. "Oh, that's right," it says, "we were running, sprinting even. We had goals, a plan, an end to which we were destined to arrive." (whoa body, tone down on the poetry, wouldya?)
And I am able to pick back up, right where I left off, and move forward.
I also think the same is true in life.
We are resilient, able to bounce back after a hard fall. After some time on the ground, we are fully equipped to get back up and not only start running again, but quickly get back to the track we left.
Sometimes, after some time down, we may feel as if life has sped past us and catching up is simply impossible. Being down for any period of time feels wasteful, and setbacks, the end of the world. Because surely, the longer we aren't running, the more our body forgets how to run, right? And someday, when we are able to start running again, we will have to spend all that time teaching our bodies how to run once more.
But we all have setbacks, we all spend a little bit of time down. No one gets it perfect, especially not the first time around. It's not the falling down, it's the staying down that is the true setback.
I guess I say all this to say that we can't fear the fear of falling. To fear this is to fear what will inevitably and definitely happen, and that any break in momentum will set us up for an ultimate and unstoppable downward spiral. But something I've learned recently is that fearing failure and fearing setbacks blinds from decision making. Over thinking our lives to the point that we start to make decisions based on a comparison of what failure will hurt less is really no way to live.
But we are resilient.
In that we can get back up, get back on track, and, despite a really tough week or so of not being quite where we once believed we were, we will eventually, and probably sooner than we think, find ourselves right back on track.
So don't sweat it, just sweat, but not really, I mean yes, but no.
When you're ready, you can rest assured that your body remembers where you were when you stopped running, and you will get to that place again, and soon. And the world has not passed you by, it's just been waiting for you.
I haven't been running in a few weeks now, and I recently decided to pick it back up again during spring break. I am always amazed at how my body functions. Muscle memory and endurance, my body never forgets these things. Once I do start running again, the first week or so is usually pretty pathetic. I spend my time striving, grasping, pushing to even get one mile. Then one day, out of nowhere, something breaks and I run 10.
Ok, maybe not 10, I actually lost track of the laps I ran. I had listened to all of the album "Nothing Left To Lose" by Mat Kearney and gone back to listen to "All I Need" about 5 more times. So, how ever long that takes, that's as far as I ran.
And all because my body resilient.
It's is able to, after all this time, remember where it left off. "Oh, that's right," it says, "we were running, sprinting even. We had goals, a plan, an end to which we were destined to arrive." (whoa body, tone down on the poetry, wouldya?)
And I am able to pick back up, right where I left off, and move forward.
I also think the same is true in life.
We are resilient, able to bounce back after a hard fall. After some time on the ground, we are fully equipped to get back up and not only start running again, but quickly get back to the track we left.
Sometimes, after some time down, we may feel as if life has sped past us and catching up is simply impossible. Being down for any period of time feels wasteful, and setbacks, the end of the world. Because surely, the longer we aren't running, the more our body forgets how to run, right? And someday, when we are able to start running again, we will have to spend all that time teaching our bodies how to run once more.
But we all have setbacks, we all spend a little bit of time down. No one gets it perfect, especially not the first time around. It's not the falling down, it's the staying down that is the true setback.
I guess I say all this to say that we can't fear the fear of falling. To fear this is to fear what will inevitably and definitely happen, and that any break in momentum will set us up for an ultimate and unstoppable downward spiral. But something I've learned recently is that fearing failure and fearing setbacks blinds from decision making. Over thinking our lives to the point that we start to make decisions based on a comparison of what failure will hurt less is really no way to live.
But we are resilient.
In that we can get back up, get back on track, and, despite a really tough week or so of not being quite where we once believed we were, we will eventually, and probably sooner than we think, find ourselves right back on track.
So don't sweat it, just sweat, but not really, I mean yes, but no.
When you're ready, you can rest assured that your body remembers where you were when you stopped running, and you will get to that place again, and soon. And the world has not passed you by, it's just been waiting for you.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Awake My Soul
I have long been out of the world of blogging. Twitter and Facebook have simultaneously replaced the world of meaningful (and often lengthy) xanga-style posts with 140 characters or less. And for me, this has been sufficient, until now.
My birthday was a few weeks ago. Not a milestone birthday, necessarily, but an age change nonetheless. I turned 26 this past January, and I did not handle it well. You see, when I turned 25 they told me, "this is the year of reflection, a time for you to look back on your young life and examine and appreciate everything in it. Treasure it, love it, re-experience every moment of what has brought you to the place you are now." But when I turned 26 they said, "Now, get over it."
Seriously? Get over it? That's really all you have to say? It's as if someone was pushing me out of my young 20's and into the scary, dark, older 20's (against my very will, mind you). It was not pleasant and I cried couple of times...and I mean I ugly cried.
The problem is that I was not done reflecting. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to keep reflecting and examining so long as it kept me from facing an ugly truth; my life did not turn out the way I had planned. Nothing I had planned for in my early 20's had come true. The all-fulfilling life calling, the self-assurance that came with being undoubtedly in God's will, the husband (or at least the man who would surly at this time be, irrefutably, the one); my life, essentially, was a sham.
But, really, it wasn't. I have since then gotten over the initial shock of turning an upper even twenty number, and I am now discovering that, though I don't have what I thought I should have by now, nor do I really know what the rather dark, foggy future holds, I am, in this time and place, right where I want to be.
Where. I. Want. To. Be.
Let me fill you in on what I mean by this. Almost two years ago I made an extremely scary, somewhat irrational decision to move to a foreign place I now like to call home. This place is Mississippi, and I now consider this the best decision of my life. Many over the past two years have asked me why I might move to such a place, and for a period of time, I could not give them a very good reason. And the problem is not that Mississippi has nothing to offer, it is that not many understand what it really means to live in this often overlooked place.
It's here that I am going to introduce you all to an author who has become incredibly famous over the past year or so, and all because of a book she wrote about a time and place in Mississippi. Her name is Katheryn Stockett, and her book, "The Help," has been made into a movie that has been nominated for an Oscar or two (congrats to Octavia Spencer for winning); you all know this. At the end of her book, though, she writes a few cool things about her state of birth. It really is a rather funny portion of the book, and I would read the whole thing for yourself if I were you, but I find this next quote particularly interesting.
"Mississippi is like my mother, I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person that raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother, too."
I really can't say why exactly, but this quote still makes me smile. And though I don't yet believe I can call Mississippi my mother, I do think I can at least call her my great aunt in that I have always been invited to call her home my home as well. She didn't give birth to me, but has provided me a place to give birth to my own ideas and dreams. Her skies are large enough for another dreamer and her pines still compete to see who can touch the meridian Sun. It's a beautiful place that I have found to rest my soul.
So what is it about this place? I first became familiar with the state when I was in elementary school. It was well known among all the kids that Mississippi was the longest word in the dictionary and your ability to spell it correctly and as fast as you could awarded you some kind of gold star in the ever developing social scene that is first grade. This is not a difficult feat and we soon learned that, in fact, supercalafragilisticexpialadocious was the longest word in the dictionary. Since then Mississippi has come and gone in my life as more of an idea; it was a far-away destination, a setting in a book, a place to stop for gas.
But now it has become so much more.
Now for a little exercise that I hope will help you understand where I'm coming from. I'm sure you are all familiar with memes.
This is my Mississippi meme:
My birthday was a few weeks ago. Not a milestone birthday, necessarily, but an age change nonetheless. I turned 26 this past January, and I did not handle it well. You see, when I turned 25 they told me, "this is the year of reflection, a time for you to look back on your young life and examine and appreciate everything in it. Treasure it, love it, re-experience every moment of what has brought you to the place you are now." But when I turned 26 they said, "Now, get over it."
Seriously? Get over it? That's really all you have to say? It's as if someone was pushing me out of my young 20's and into the scary, dark, older 20's (against my very will, mind you). It was not pleasant and I cried couple of times...and I mean I ugly cried.
The problem is that I was not done reflecting. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to keep reflecting and examining so long as it kept me from facing an ugly truth; my life did not turn out the way I had planned. Nothing I had planned for in my early 20's had come true. The all-fulfilling life calling, the self-assurance that came with being undoubtedly in God's will, the husband (or at least the man who would surly at this time be, irrefutably, the one); my life, essentially, was a sham.
But, really, it wasn't. I have since then gotten over the initial shock of turning an upper even twenty number, and I am now discovering that, though I don't have what I thought I should have by now, nor do I really know what the rather dark, foggy future holds, I am, in this time and place, right where I want to be.
Where. I. Want. To. Be.
Let me fill you in on what I mean by this. Almost two years ago I made an extremely scary, somewhat irrational decision to move to a foreign place I now like to call home. This place is Mississippi, and I now consider this the best decision of my life. Many over the past two years have asked me why I might move to such a place, and for a period of time, I could not give them a very good reason. And the problem is not that Mississippi has nothing to offer, it is that not many understand what it really means to live in this often overlooked place.
It's here that I am going to introduce you all to an author who has become incredibly famous over the past year or so, and all because of a book she wrote about a time and place in Mississippi. Her name is Katheryn Stockett, and her book, "The Help," has been made into a movie that has been nominated for an Oscar or two (congrats to Octavia Spencer for winning); you all know this. At the end of her book, though, she writes a few cool things about her state of birth. It really is a rather funny portion of the book, and I would read the whole thing for yourself if I were you, but I find this next quote particularly interesting.
"Mississippi is like my mother, I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person that raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother, too."
I really can't say why exactly, but this quote still makes me smile. And though I don't yet believe I can call Mississippi my mother, I do think I can at least call her my great aunt in that I have always been invited to call her home my home as well. She didn't give birth to me, but has provided me a place to give birth to my own ideas and dreams. Her skies are large enough for another dreamer and her pines still compete to see who can touch the meridian Sun. It's a beautiful place that I have found to rest my soul.
So what is it about this place? I first became familiar with the state when I was in elementary school. It was well known among all the kids that Mississippi was the longest word in the dictionary and your ability to spell it correctly and as fast as you could awarded you some kind of gold star in the ever developing social scene that is first grade. This is not a difficult feat and we soon learned that, in fact, supercalafragilisticexpialadocious was the longest word in the dictionary. Since then Mississippi has come and gone in my life as more of an idea; it was a far-away destination, a setting in a book, a place to stop for gas.
But now it has become so much more.
Now for a little exercise that I hope will help you understand where I'm coming from. I'm sure you are all familiar with memes.
This is my Mississippi meme:
Where my mom thinks I live:
Where Society thinks I live:
Where my friends think I live:
Where I live:
It's the people that have always meant the most to me, and these are a few of my favorite. If you didn't get your picture in this lineup, don't worry, I'm just not good at taking pictures =). If you want your picture here, just send me a link and I'll post it, because, more than likely, you mean a lot to me and have helped shape my experience here in Mississippi.
Thanks.
No, really, that's all, for now.
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