A Trip to the Movies

Los Angeles, California

I spend most Wednesdays with my friend, Barb. It is the day when Ana comes to clean my house and before the pandemic was the day when I would treat myself, solo, to a movie. It is one of my favorite things to do by myself. But I also enjoy sharing a movie with friends. During the past twelve months or so, Barb and I have seen some real dogs. Were there just not a lot of good films out there or were we choosing badly? Probably the best of what we saw was Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. One of the crappiest was Mrs. 'Arris Goes to Paris. We both knew people who liked it, but neither of us did. I am cautious in choosing the films I see. Watching bad films/TV, for me translates as a tearing up of time. Trust me, I can tear up time in even more useless ways, but sitting with eyes glued to a screen while not enjoying what is up there, makes me feel more cheated than, say, sitting in front of this screen writing this useless stuff.

So, I try to choose films I think I will like, and over my adult lifetime, I've been pretty good at this. I also filter out violence, war, and for the most part, westerns. I am beginning to filter out anything too woke. I found the recent remake of Little Women silly in its obviousness of updating. A little bit of the world-according-to-millennials goes a long way for me.

Recently Barb and I went to see a new Tom Hanks movie, A Man Called Otto, based on a Swedish film which was based on a novel by Fredrik Backman. I had not read the novel but I had read another by the author: Us Against You, which I thought was excellent. And who doesn't like Tom Hanks? So off we went to see this film, without my knowing much at all about it. It began (spoiler alert!) with a few various, failed and slightly humorous suicide attempts reminiscent of Inside Daisy Clover, Groundhog Day, or even It's a Wonderful Life. And then the character took out a rifle. Suddenly I was overcome with a crashing wave of anxiety. My first thought was: Run. Just get out of here; away from this. But after so many years of dealing with anxiety, my next thoughts helped myself to calm down. To breathe. Reassurance that, once again, it would be ok. And so, my anxiety subsided by about half. Knowing how this scene might be upsetting to me, Barb turned to me. Are you ok? And I responded how? I nodded? Maybe I said I think so. Frankly, I don't remember. Memories are generally not made during the throes of anxiety. The character's last attempt passed unsuccessfully after the gun went off and blew a hole in a wall? The ceiling? (I don't know. I don't remember. See above.) This too resonated. My heart was still speeding. It's just a movie. It's just a movie. Just a movie.

A friend of mine is going through a difficult time precipitated by a serious health issue affecting her husband. I know that this is difficult and scary. But as I recently wrote to her, I can't quite feel her pain. I can know it, but some part of me is shut down to the physical feelings accompanying empathy. After Sandra died, then my mom, then my husband, and all in the same year, I remember thinking and commenting that I was afraid death in my life would become just a checking-off of the next one. How much can you feel before you shut down?

I fully remember the anxiety of taking care of my mother over the last five years of her life. She was struggling with a lot of health issues including vascular dementia. I, with a great deal of help from Tom and none whatsoever from my only sister, managed for her. We managed her medical and daily care, her rental property, finances, and taxes. We found a care home for her when it came to that time and a better one afterwards. And simultaneously managed our small business through a profound recession. All the while, Tom was depressed and all of the ways he had damaged our marriage somehow came back up in bas relief. It was an extravaganza of trouble and strife. And I do remember all of it. I remember the call that came intimating that something terrible had happened. But many of the feelings attached to all of it are closeted. They're there behind that door. And that door doesn't open. Except for a crack when I see a scene like that one in that movie.

I guess I am fortunate to not feel this all of the time. I am a feeling person for both good and bad. But the intensity that rode in on all I experienced is blessedly now out of range. In my worst moments, I don't care what happens to me. And maybe that was more what I related to in this film. But there was a turn and a hopeful, better ending. Everyone goes through hard times. And no one gets out of here alive. My salve is that it is better to live, to enjoy the time that is given to us, and to not sweat the small stuff. But contrary to the common saying, it is not all small stuff. Some of it is really, really big. And that's when we have to breathe. And to put one foot in front of the other. And to remember what my mom, and maybe yours as well, quoted at us: This too shall pass. Someday.

Ghandi Revisited

Los Angeles, California

I don't do new year's resolutions. But I do use the ending and subsequent start of a new year to do an evaluation and reset. And that can take many shapes and forms. This year I am reflecting on acceptance. Recently an old friend (one whom I have referred to as my ex-best friend) and I have reconnected. It is tentative and tenuous and we have agreed to take this reformation in baby steps. But as time goes by, I find myself more forgiving of the breaches and lapses that used to plague me in my relationships. But this easing is within reason.

I was fortunate to grow up with a father who believed in boundaries and discipline but was completely devoid of racism and mostly of judgmentalism. I inherited my own judgmentalism from what was modeled by my mother. My father used to say that he couldn't understand why, after spending a day with family or a family of friends, my mother and grandmother would trash them on the drive all the way home. I would add that they trashed-talked them for sport. I have sincere issues with breaches of etiquette and the golden rule. I believe that you have to make an effort in your relationships, and I strongly believe in reciprocity. My mother often said about my sister that the river only runs one way with her. This was true and maybe it is why I have such a problem with people like that. If the river is only running from me to them, I will let it flow for longer than I probably should, and then the dam goes up overnight.

But I am older and wiser and have seen things happen in my own life, and in the lives of people close to me, which has given me a greater sense of perspective. I have kept people in my life who have done terrible things. And I regret that. And I see friends keeping people in their lives who have done terrible things. I don't want to be the one who throws stones, but I also don't feel I am living in a glass house. If someone were to wrongly accuse me of something heinous, I would run far and fast away from them. If someone deliberately or carelessly hurts their friend or family-member, I will question that person's lack of kindness and character, and back up from them while the behavior continues. It's a murky grey area as to whether I keep them in my life once I see that is who they are. I've been there and done that. See sentence pertaining to regret earlier in this paragraph.

My father believed in rules and order. He believed in expert opinions. He didn't question the validity of stop signs, marriage vows, scientific recommendations, faith. His world was well-ordered because he was educated and deferred to educated facts. He valued his own opinion, but was clearly cognizant that facts were facts and conspiracy theories were bullshit.

I, on the other hand, grew up in the late sixties and my generation was told to question everything: the morality of a war in southeast Asia; codes regarding dress and/or men's hair length; organized religion and Washington's Watergate-era politics. I now see a world where people rail against science, the arts, and traffic signs. I feel we are living in an increasingly downward spiral of chaos where everyone feels entitled to do exactly what they feel like doing regardless of anyone else.

Recently a friend remarked to me that she was grateful to be on the downward side of life because, as she put it, the world is horrible and it's not going to get any better. I do feel that on occasion, but I try to buck that up with a sense that the world could be better. Last year I mentioned to a friend that I was trying to live by being the change you want to see in the world. She replied that my statement sounded like some liberal gibberish. WTF? It's a quote from Ghandi and clearly an enlightened goal to set for oneself. But trying to make the world better may seem, to some, like liberal bullshit. And that's pretty sad.

So, here in the beginning of the year, and before I set a goal for the period of Lent, I am pondering my existential plan for the year. Not a resolution. Not an I-give-up collapse. But, something, somewhere on the positive side of the spectrum between joy and despair. And maybe that is the space where acceptance resides. I do want to be that change that I want to see, especially within the relationships I value. I have a belief that you can make a huge difference by taking the higher road. I have resolved to be aware of sarcasm, snarkiness, and especially the hit-and-run political comments that I hear around me. They have no place in a better world. And I am reminded of what I thought after 9/11: I can't substantially change the world, nor my country, state nor city. But I can change how I behave in my circle of family and friends. Going forward I will make that effort as well as continuing to welcome the people who also make that effort into my life. It is time for that change.