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Rare joys.
The highlight of going to see Barbie this afternoon wasn't the movie itself. Not that the movie wasn't a delight - I'm very happy I saw it and honestly wouldn't mind seeing it again sometime fairly soon - but the highlight came about of when I saw it at this particular, specific time. I went to a mid-afternoon showing and when I got out, the light was fading slowly into the long, gentle moments of early summer evenings in the Northeast. I didn't feel like walking back, so I grabbed a bike from a nearby kiosk and started to pedal along, drifting through my thoughts, keeping an eye on the traffic around me and just enjoying the feelings of having come out of a movie and biking on home.
And it struck me: this was exactly what I'd used to do. All over my childhood, all through adolescence, go to a movie that set of sparks in my brain and filled me with a sense of purpose and wonder and made me want to make something too, and then get on a bike and move through those sparks and that wonder as I headed on home.
For just long enough to remember, the light was the same.
And it struck me: this was exactly what I'd used to do. All over my childhood, all through adolescence, go to a movie that set of sparks in my brain and filled me with a sense of purpose and wonder and made me want to make something too, and then get on a bike and move through those sparks and that wonder as I headed on home.
For just long enough to remember, the light was the same.
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