Image by Pezibear from Pixabay
Sometimes great thoughts come from really humble places.
Like an old(er) movie.
I love Sandra Bullock; I adore Harry Connick, Jr. The two of them starred in Hope Floats, which came on TV unexpectedly one evening a few weeks ago. Something I had been watching ended. I got up to throw in a load of laundry or putter around. When I returned to the couch, it was playing. Instantly I was hooked.
The story isn’t exactly something you’d study in a literature course but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. Just that it was simple and not overdone (it’s a romantic drama sort of movie with a liberal amount of humor tossed in). Essentially the main character, Birdee, is a young woman who thought she was living the dream. Good looking husband, precociously cute daughter, and her own classic American beauty still intact well after her high school years and her crowning as Queen of Corn (it takes place in a small country town). Then she learns her husband is cheating on her and is in love with the other woman. Birdee grabs her little girl, flees to her small hometown, and moves back in with her eclectic, fun-loving mom.
So you get it: it’s a starting over story. A second chance at love (and other pursuits) kind of thing. There are a lot of sweet moments, funny ones, and as required in a romance, some fairly steamy ones as well (Harry really delivers as handsome hometown honey Justin Matisse). But despite the formulaic (albeit enjoyable) plot line, there was some real wisdom in the movie that truly surprised me.
The first little gem was from a conversation between Birdee and Justin about who they were when they knew each other in high school and who they had now become. Justin says that people “start out loving” something but then ruin it trying to make a living from it. He had moved to California chasing a dream that’s never described but he figured things out and came home. Birdee asked what it was he had “started out loving.” He replied:
“For me, it was doing things right. That’s all. That’s why I came back here, so l could live the way l wanted.”
Dang, that was good, right? It had self-awareness, maturity, humility, and courage. All in three very simple sentences. It made me want to do things right. Take care of myself. Eat right. Not have regrets or guilt. I started thinking this movie isn’t bad.
Then there was the part the day after they had spent the night together. Birdee is a little embarrassed but not Justin. When she accidentally calls him Bill, her estranged husband’s name, Justin lets her know that he’s not just chasing a dream from high school. He knows how he feels about her and why.
“You know, Birdee, you used to be so, l don’t know, audacious. Bold. People would stop to watch you come down the street. ‘Here comes that Birdee Calvert.’ Their eyes would light up… You think you’ve lost that. I can still see it.”
Come on, haven’t we all felt like we’ve lost that audacity at some time or another? Especially as we’ve grown into our adult selves? Who wouldn’t want to know that someone still saw that raw, life-giving fire in her even as she moped around in a post breakup funk? Sure, it’s charming that Justin says that to Birdee. But that’s not what makes it so touching. It’s that he saw her pain, named it, and proved that it didn’t need to hold her down. Damn, right? Who is this guy and are there any more of him?
But my very favorite line, and one that I admit has had way more effect on me than should seem possible from just a sweet little movie, was even more eye opening. Birdee’s mother really likes Justin and is a little peeved that her daughter seems to be playing hard to get. After Birdee turns him away from a dinner date she set up, her mom reprimands her lightly but effectively.
“Hey, you think life goes on forever? You think behind every chance is another chance and then another one and another one? It’s the worst kind of extravagance, the way you spend your chances, Birdee.”
That was the one that really hit home. The words just made so much sense. They summed up a wide range of emotions I’ve had lately as I get further along in years and wonder what it’s all about. Perhaps it’s because they explain the reason why I sometimes feel vaguely dissatisfied even after a string of good days (or months). Chances. Change that word to days and it’s even more accurate: spending days with no purpose. Getting nothing done or worked through. Being comfortable and healthy and content (at least for now) but that’s it. Have I spent all my chances?
I have to believe that I have not. But I also have to admit that there’s not an infinite supply of days. Or chances. And I also wonder if, when you turn down one really good chance, does the quality of the subsequent ones go down? Does fate get tired of me if I say no to something potentially awesome and decide to stop spending so much time worrying about me? Eventually do I just get the scraps that fall from the table?
So now what? Well, as I sit here on my deck, looking out at a fading early summer day and realizing the glorious gift my life is, I just want so badly to treasure it. This day. And every other one I’m lucky enough to get. And to do so worthily. Not just in the cliched way people sometimes say: live each day like it’s your last. But in a more committed and realistic way.
Living each day like it’s my last doesn’t appeal to me. It doesn’t give me peace, it just depresses me. Because if I really did know this was my last day, how could I ever resolve everything I need to by nightfall? All such a perspective generates for me is urgency and stress. I’m sure it works for some people, but I can’t get into it.
Viewing the day as a chance, however, removes the angst but preserves the importance. If I can use my chances each day without wasting any, if I can end up in a place where I’m pleased with my decisions at the end of the day instead of mystified or repulsed by them, then I’ve done it. I’ve spent my chances and purchased progress with them instead of cheap trinkets and toys.
I fall back on the advice of one of my favorite bloggers when I think of all this. At Raptitude.com, David is constantly striving, patiently and meditatively, to live purposefully. In fact, the post I read a few days after rewatching Hope Floats was particularly relevant to my newfound interest in spending chances wisely. He wrote about finding a better way to be productive and wrote an e-book about it.
Productivity, to David and to me, is not just about chores. Sure, getting the laundry done and vacuuming out the car is necessary from time to time. But I don’t want to create a system that simply allows me more time to clean the house or organize my closets. Productivity should be about accomplishing goals that move me toward personal growth, not toward a spotless house or an empty junk drawer.
Because I truly don’t mind work. I just mind dumb work. The kind that takes up too much time for too little reward (like trying to give myself a French pedicure). I like the idea of creating blocks for getting things done, as Raptitude.com suggests. But before those blocks can work, I have to set them up correctly.
With a sudden stroke of clarity, I realized shortly after the watching the movie that it’s possible to be busy and productive my whole life. And still get nothing done. Talk about urgent and stressful. If I’m going to continue to get chances thrown my way, I’m not going to disrespect the process by working without purpose. So if I really need to do the dishes, I will.
But if I need a few hours to write, I’ll block that off. If I want to play and run with my dog babies, I will. I just need to be sure I’m always turning toward the actions and situations that reward me with something more than just empty calories or mindless entertainment.
Which is not to say there’s anything wrong with cookie dough ice cream or sweet romantic movies. But I better really enjoy such things while I have them, not just use them to kill time. Such an ugly phrase, right? Why would any of us want to do that? It is, to quote Birdee’s mother, the “worst kind of extravagance.”