While not a grand movie, I do enjoy watching Holly Hunter do her thing.
But a particular scene from the movie plays in my head constantly. In it the blonde, completely daft news anchor Tom (William Hurt) is chatting with the short, dark, iconic-ly Jewish ‘behind the scenes’ real journalist Aaron (Albert Brooks):
In the movie it is a wonderfully wry, perfectly executed moment.
But in real life this very thing sucks.
I have a very good life.
~ My house is safe and cozy….though never fully clean and so far from organized and tidy that I don’t believe such a thing exists.
~ My children are happy, intelligent, curious and loved….though they are also loud, eccentric and, I believe, may scare the grandparents.
~ My husband is quite wonderful….though we rarely have very much time together.
~ My health and enthusiasm for life (inextricably bound) are both strong and getting stronger.
In other words, my life is lovely and wonderful and fulfilling even within it’s ‘so far from perfect’ ness.
But I feel a deep hesitation to skip over the barrier that tells me that I’m supposed to ‘keep it to myself.’
I have read far more than my share of mythology. I KNOW that there seems to be a cultural acknowledgment (perhaps deeply ingrained in all of us) to not ‘tempt the gods.’ And I don’t. I do not skip around gaily assuming that life will always be happy, pleasant and easy. I am deeply grateful and express that gratitude (both to my loved-ones and any listening gods) on a daily basis.
I take nothing for granted.
I work for this Good Life (as does my aforementioned wonderful husband.)
And I acknowledge that luck and coincidence and caprice and other things over which I have no control do factor in.
But as E says, in the movie The Incredibles: Luck favors the prepared.
(Ironically also a Holly Hunter movie.)
So why do I hesitate to talk about the riches that life has allowed me, if not because I’m trying to not irritate the gods?
The other day it occurred to me that way too much about life is like a giant game of ‘whack a mole.’
Standing above the crowd, being actually ‘heard’ amid the din of the collective complaining, can be perilous. There always seems to be someone at the ready with a (not-so-soft) mallet. Whack.
This just doesn’t work for me.
I can not be a mallet-wielder. Nor can I live a full and enthusiastic life while neurotically watching for the whack, especially not knowing from whence it might come.
So that is a good bit of what my little blog is about.
This blog is about the celebration of life.
I have a good life with exuberant children who deserve me at my best.
I am grateful.
I am happy.
I am able to embrace all the good in my life despite the (many) things outside my grasp.
My real life exceeds my dreams.
There. I said it.
Whack if you must; I have on my helmet and really don’t care. 🙂