Once in a while a moment will come along in your life and make you look at yourself with your own sense of profound introspectiveness, and if you’re lucky such a moment will change you, maybe in a major way or maybe in the most minute of ways, but it will allow you to see something inside of you that want to change or better. And if like me your life revolves around stories of paper, ink and celluloid such moments may be even more frequent. In an obvious sense this is the point of art and storytelling but for someone whom aspires to tell such tales and paint such beautiful images this moment has a second moment encapsulated within it, the one in which my creative nature begins to contemplate how to aim for the sky and be among the stars before my natural introvert nature swoops in and turns the moment into a complete muddle of emotions and ideas that are both sublime and difficult but ones I wish will have again and again.
Writing is a large part of my life even if I do struggle to ever write anything, but this blog is such one outlet, and throughout my week I plan and research what I wish to write about next but today this is not the case, this post may quite quickly deteriorate into an abundance of ramblings, for which I do and I don’t apologise for, as originally promised I will never apologise for what I write, nor do I wish to pander you with such sentimental nonsense. But this post is born of the realisation of the power of that that moment and how important it has been to my life and the influences to which it can be attributed to, and the beauty of being laid, curled in my bed my mind a race with nonsense as I try to sift through it for some order of control and understanding. If you want to find the normality of within these writings or its core sense, you could look at it as a what to read or watch guide in your young adult years but in all honesty its just a mess of influences that are important to me. From the moment I realised I wasn’t in control of my own life and I wasn’t aiming for my dream or to the simplest and dumbest of realisations that I am alive and life is good.
For a long time now I have struggled to truly watch a film free of any interruption or other screen and fully appreciate it. But the other night without intention a film completely gripped me, it’s one that has sat on my watchlist for a long time but one I had never got round to as it’s two hour running time kept putting me off, but to feed my growing sense of wanderlust that evening I decided to watch it and indulge in it’s adventure, Tracks, tells the story of Robyn a young girl who decides to walk 1,700 miles across the deserts of Western Australia to simply say she had done it. Instead of having found my wanderlust fed and my need for adventure waning I was left staring blankly at the ceiling till three in the morning enraptured by a burning desire to accomplish something, anything, to travel, to write, to explore, just something, the result; this. A desire to share my experience for no other reason then to simply put it on the page and see how truly crazy I am. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way that it just got me thinking harder and harder and such thoughts have yet to leave my mind 48 hours later, and so I have set to collecting together the memories of such moments and what trigged them. From 127 Hours simply just giving me a new appreciation for life, as I walked through the shallow waters of the seaside back home or how Into the Wild gave me the burning desire to travel America, one day some how. But the film that has contributed to having the biggest impact on my life without significance is The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
At the time I had yet to be exposed to the writings of Stephen Chbosky and simply went to see the film to watch my childhood crush Emma Watson, and as I sat there in the theatre as couples and groups of friends sat sparsely around me sharing a joke, or muttering something to one another, I was alone.
Dear Friend, I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn’t try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don’t try to figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I don’t want you to do that. I just need to know that people like you exist. Like if you met me, you wouldn’t think I was the weird kid…
Never in my life I have ever felt like a movie was speaking to me, that the character was beside me and with me, now a thousand such people have been touched by Chbosky’s work but this was my first experience and the first time I realised I wasn’t alone and that maybe I hadn’t wasted my college years holed up in my room writing movie scripts and animating lego minifigures and plasticine dinosaurs. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right place and with the right people, never has a piece of film placed an impact so heavily upon me and I am so grateful for it. Inspired by Charlie I took to reading Catcher in the Rye and like generations before me once again felt safe and as if someone understood me and maybe my ideals on life weren’t so obscured and maybe my dream wasn’t an impossibility it was just going to be a shit-tonne of hard work.
Many times before have films left in state of nostalgia for the impossible, The Goonies, Lucas, Some Kind of Wonderful and Stand By Me had me wishing for an 80’s childhood that was so clearly full of adventure and angst, and one which I could never have. Or Kick-Ass making my childhood dream of being a crime fighter a startling albeit brutal reality and in my mind a potential. Edward Scissorhands and Moonrise Kingdom had me craving a world filled with Gothic beauty and then filled with quirky characters but all full of adventure and life. And it is thanks to this array of innumerable experiences that I write and dream of being a writer so that I can live every single one of my dreams, nostalgic notions and insecurities and hopefully cause another to lay in bed wondering that maybe they’re are not all that crazy and maybe there is a place for them in this world. While I still doubt I will ever achieve this a film like Tracks comes along and reminds me not only why I love film and stories but also of who I am and why I am here and that I’m not just content on lying beneath the stars looking up at them wondering.
I mean how do you know what you’re going to do till you do it?
The Answer is you don’t. I think I am, but how do I know?
I swear it’s a stupid question.