we watched 8 1/2 today in film studies. maggie hated it, steven slept through it, and i think i really liked it. here's a thought-provoking piece of it:
[to set this up in the most simple, and therefore incomplete (although sufficient for my purposes), way, guido is a director who is presenting his idea of a film to the potential lead actress - claudia]
claudia: i don't understand. he meets a girls that can give him a new life and he pushes her away?
guido: because he no longer believes in it.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.
guido: because it isn't true that a woman can change a man.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.
guido: and above all because i don't feel like telling another pile of lies.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.
so here's the question it begs of me: doesn't everyone know how to love? are there people in the world who do not, in fact, know how to love? and if there are, is it because they simply don't possess the ability or is it because they can't be bothered to extract it from themselves?
it's all the same question really - nature vs. nurture, predestination vs. free will, practical love vs. romanced love. it's a struggle between emotions and logic, science and the arts.
and what is the answer, dear friends?
both. and neither. which is why i love it so much (and why quotes like that grab my attention so easily and completely) - there is so much to discover in the discussion of an idea that has no solution.
anyway. i have a story to tell you.
"that's the most important part of travel, isn't it, the people. i think that's really what travel is, to be honest - it's nice to see beautiful scenery and wonderful things, but it's really the people you learn from."
* * *
i was staring out the window daydreaming as usual and on my way to london to meet my parents for the weekend, when i found the seat next to me had become occupied by another passenger. she was an older woman, maybe in her 60s, with glasses so thick they distorted my view of her eyes. she was wearing a pink sweater with a black broach, and her hair looked like cinnamon sugar and fell to her shoulders; it was styled in loose waves set in place with hairspray. she emanated comfort. everything about her was worn in, but she was bright and vivid for it. her open presence was that of authenticity, not brokenness, and i was content to sit with her. suddenly, a loud beeping startled both of us from our thoughts.
"oh my," i chuckled.
"what's that, a fire?" she responded.
"something, anyway." with the silence broken, she began:
"when the train came in, we all thought it would be at that platform over there, but when it got here we had to run across to the other one! i just think about the elderly and disabled trying to hurry so quickly!"
"i saw everyone rushing - i wondered what was going on."
"now, with an accent like that you're not from this country are you?"
"no, i'm from america - i'm here for a term at lancaster university"
"ah, lancaster. my grandson graduated from lancaster - the styx!"
(i laugh)
"yeah - it's definitely the countryside; it's been really nice so far."
and thus our conversation grew and changed in the most normal and easy of ways. we talked about the future and how plans are limiting, we talked about her goddaughter who she was traveling to reconnect with after 30 years:
"they asked me to be her godmother and i agreed, but i warned them that i'd be terrible at it - i'm an atheist, you know. do you have godparents?"
"no, i know people who've got them, but i don't"
"well, they make you vow to sure they go to church and everything, and i just crossed my fingers behind my back the whole time!"
we also talked about suvs, the temptations of convenience, the nature of teenagers, the nature of growing and learning and conflict, and she shared that she's worried about becoming one of those older women who lives in the past and frets over how the world's changed since she was a young girl.
as we came up to crewe, she bid me farewell and then waved to me through the window as she walked away as if we were old friends, and i couldn't help but think to myself that this world is a place full of wonder. how can you not think so, after such a simple, beautiful conversation? it wasn't remarkable, it wasn't pronounced, it was just a gift. a little, unnecessary (and therefore all the more valuable) gift.
* * *
i feel like i have so much to tell - and it's the kind of so much that ends up turning into nothing because it would take so long to communicate. i think that's why i've been so quiet lately. there's just too much of me in here. i need to start giving it to people.
tricky thing, investment.
mm. i'm back. (thank you).
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