Beyond work

Over the long Thanksgiving weekend, I watched the 2016 film Paterson for the first time. For those of you who haven’t seen it, Paterson the film is about Paterson the man who lives in Paterson the village. Paterson the man, played by Adam Driver, is in his late 20s or early 30s and drives a city bus. He is married to Laura, played by Golshifteh Farahani, who is passionate about many things, including home decorating, learning to play guitar, and baking and selling cupcakes at a weekend community market. Paterson does more than drive a bus; he also writes poems.

He writes poems in his head as he walks to work each morning. Before he drives his bus out of the garage, he writes down the lines that came to him during that morning’s walk in the notebook he always carries with him. At lunch, while he eats his sandwich and drinks coffee from his thermos, he again takes out his notebook and adds the lines that came to him while he drove. At home, he goes down to his basement office—a desk and some shelves in an unfinished basement—and adds a few more lines. His wife begs him to read some of his poems to her, and he keeps promising he will but never does. She begs him to send his work out to some magazines. Instead, he just keeps writing, line by line.

The world around him seems to give him signs that what he’s doing matters, although the signs are not profound or recognizable to anyone else. No readers show up cheering his work, and no agents or publishers suddenly appear. He has no social media account that magically gains followers. The signs are more along the lines of “I see you.”

As he writes line by line in his head and in his notebook, he has a steadiness about him and an inner drive, not toward success, which is usually how the word ‘drive’ is used today, but a drive to keep putting the words together until they fit, and the final click unlocks some inner release and the eyes widen and the soul opens.

I wish this film had been around while I was writing Finding Livelihood. It probably would have made its way into one of the chapters. While the film features a man writing poetry while he also drives a bus, the broader implication can be a fill-in-the-blank sort of prospect for any of the rest of us. What else are you about beside your work or alongside your work? In what ways do you seek the opening of eyes and soul to what is beyond your work?

~~~

[photo: taken of the juniper berries on the table at the American Swedish Institute while I drank my coffee last week.]

The vocational twist in "It's A Wonderful Life"

Just before Christmas this year I watched, yet again, It's a Wonderful Life starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed. It hit me more than ever how George Bailey had longed for and aimed to achieve a certain kind of life and career but ended up, through a series of circumstances largely outside of his control, working at the one job he had most hoped to avoid. It was by being in this position, however, that he was able to provide for and save from ruin many of the people in his town. They then did the same for him at his time of need. Watch it again for that vocational twist. What might have become of Bedford Falls—and of George—had George insisted that the only way his life would have meaning would be by following his dreams?

Thoughts on The Florida Project

A couple weeks ago my husband and I went to see the new film, The Florida Project. When I first saw the film’s poster in our local theater months ago, I had made a quick mental note to see it. Being as I grew up in coastal Florida, I imagined that because it was a story of Florida, it would no doubt feature the white sand and beauty of the ocean, which I miss. By the time we went to see the film, though, I knew that it was about something else entirely.

The story follows the lives of small children and their mothers or, in one case, a grandmother, who live in motels along Route 192 near Disney World, all caught in poverty, bad decisions, some form of abandonment, and hopelessness. There's not a single beach scene. But the story line also follows that of Bobby, played by Willem DaFoe, the manager of The Magic Castle, the budget motel where the film’s primary child and mother live on a weekly basis. For all the reasons to see the film based on the story line and the outstanding performance of the 7-year-old Floridian, Brooklynn Prince, whom we will no doubt be seeing more of in years to come, it’s the story of Bobby that most captured my attention.

The film’s director, Sean Baker, had been on Charlie Rose in mid-October talking about his film. He described how he had researched for the film by talking with people in the area where it was shot. In particular, he spoke of a motel manager he met:

"We would go and see who was interested in telling their stories or giving us information about the Route 192, which is where this was shot. And this was—this involved us speaking to residents at the motels, the small business owners, some the motel managers, and some the agencies that actually provided social services to people in need in the area. And there was one—there was actually one man in particular, a motel manager, who really opened up his world to us. In a way, he was our passport in. He wanted—he felt that this was a story that should be told, … and he was actually managing one of these budget motels directly across the street from the Magic Castle Motel where we shot. And he was in a very tough position when he was actually working there. It has since closed. But he had compassion for the families and the kids who were there. He understood the struggles they were going through. And, yet, he, you know, had a job. He had to hold onto. And he knew that perhaps any night he might have to evict one of these families and put them out on the street if they couldn't come up with the nightly rate. So, it was a tough position for him. I could see this obvious—this compassion, but I also saw a distance that he would keep from them. And it was like a reluctant parental figure in many ways. I saw it not only with him but a few of the other motel managers we met. And I think it very much inspired our Bobby character."

DaFoe’s character captures an aspect of work that I tried to describe in Finding Livelihood: that of doing one thing, for which you’re paid, but that may be far from what you most want to do or feel “called” to do, while at the same time also doing something far bigger on another plane, maybe all the time and all along or maybe only for a moment, participating in a for-such-a-time-as-this sort of thing. Parallel realities. Bobby kept the books, he kept the rules, he kept the place clean. Job description met! But he also kept his people safe, he guided and cared, he gave hope, he loved. If you missed the movie trailer, hyperlinked in the first sentence, take a look now and you'll get a hint of what I'm talking about.

Make stuff, learn stuff

Film director Pete Docter gave something back to the audience in his acceptance speech for Best Animated Feature for Inside Out at the Academy Awards last Sunday. If you haven’t seen Inside Out, it’s a wonderful film about an 11-year-old girl who becomes miserable after a cross-country move.

Here’s what Docter said:

“Anyone out there who’s in junior high, high school, working it out, suffering — there are days you’re going to feel sad. You’re going to feel angry. You’re going to feel scared. That’s nothing you can choose. But you can make stuff. Make films. Draw. Write. It will make a world of difference.”

Adults were listening too.

It reminded me of advice given by Merlyn the magician in King Arthur’s court as told in The Once and Future King by T.H. White.

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something . That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn. Learn why the world ways and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn—pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn anatomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a million lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics—why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend fifty years learning to begin to beat your adversary at fencing. After that you can start again on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough.”

~~~

[Photo: taken from a back car window of the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge.]

Thoughts on the Amy Winehouse documentary

Last night I saw the film Amy. It’s a documentary about the life of Amy Winehouse, the jazz singer from London who died of alcohol toxicity at the age of 27 years. I knew little about Winehouse before I went, and so what I know about her now is largely what I learned in this film. I learned enough to weep inside at the tragic trajectory of her life. It could have been otherwise given her verve, her voice, her giftedness for music and lyrics. See for yourself, here, in this recorded video with Tony Bennett.

The 2-hour film is nearly exclusively live shots and video from her life. The footage covers it all from the innocent excited moments of her first gig to her spiral downward into drugs and alcohol. Lots of the footage probably came from the paparrazi who relentlessly followed her when she became a superstar, but lots of it also was from her own camera and that of her friends. This is not the Ken Burns effect, where a single picture zooms in and out only to move to the next one. This is the era of selfies and by the film’s end, I couldn’t help but feel as if she was someone I knew even though she was so very different from anyone I know.

Yes, while making her music she made her own terrible choices. But also yes, the adults in her life, with the exception of her paternal grandmother, failed her from the time she was child; her boyfriend-turned-husband manipulated her and pulled her under, even bringing her heroin while she was in rehab; the people who made her albums and planned her tours chose money over her well being; we, the public, laughed at jokes the late-night TV stars told about her and wanted pictures on magazine covers and online of her spiral downward.

Leaving the theater last night and waking up this morning I kept thinking of the writing in Dorothy L. Sayers’ The Mind of the Maker about how the creator of a literary work loves the creatures he creates and sometimes must watch them do and become things on the page or on the screen that he had never intended. I kept thinking about the scene in the Gospels where Jesus speaks – and I imagine him choking back tears while he does so – of his beloved Jerusalem, saying how he had longed to gather its children under his wing.

#HateWon'tWin: "Charleston," a song and video by my friends Benjamin Tucker and David Vessel

My friends Benjamin Tucker and David Vessel made this video in honor of the Charleston Nine and their families. Ben wrote the song and David put the video together.

Both of these guys have day jobs but do creative work in after hours. They each have a deep love for God and people and creative juices that flow beautiful and bright.

You can find Ben's music on his website: http://benjamintuckermusic.com. We have a number of his CDs and have been known to play them on repeat. David's photography is here: http://davidvesselphotography.com/. 

#HateWon'tWin. Please listen and consider sharing. (If you're reading this via email subscription, you may need to click through to play the video.)

Memorial Day reflection – the unknown and unknowable extent of heroism and sacrifice

Memorial Day.

I’m reflecting on all that I don’t know and will never know about the extent to which men and women have sacrificed for this country’s freedoms.

Here’s an example. In late April of this year, my husband and I watched several television programs that aired commemorating the 40-year anniversary of the fall of Saigon in the Vietnam war in April 1975. One program in particular stunned me. Rory Kennedy's film, "Last Days in Vietnam," seen on PBS American Experience, was about the evacuation of the the U.S. embassy, which was actually the evacuation of Saigon from the place of the U.S. embassy. I had no idea the extent of heroism, sacrifice, and drama related to this evacuation.

April 29-30, 1975: I was just about to graduate from high school. I remember watching the news about Saigon on television – we’d been watching the news about the Vietnam war for years – but I don’t remember taking in the details or the scope of the event. Certainly, much of what was in the documentary has come to light over the years and wasn’t on the nightly news. But also, certainly, and sadly, I probably was more focused on what I’d wear to graduation and making final college decisions at the time.

Here are only a few examples of what I learned from the documentary. The Marines made 75 helicopter runs, within 24 hours, in and out of the embassy to bring South Vietnamese (men, women, children) and Americans out to waiting ships. The helicopters were crammed full of people; the ships were crammed full of people. Marines on the ground were going around Saigon trying to find food and clothes for the refugees on the ships. No one wanted to stop evacuating people from the embassy grounds until the last person waiting for his or her turn on the helicopter had a spot and was airborne, but eventually a line had to be drawn after which no more people could be lifted it. It must have been a devastating moment in real life; it was a devastating moment in the documentary. The documentary was full of statements from the servicemen flying the helicopters, on the ships, and in the embassy. You can hear the heartbreak in their voices that people were left behind, but all they did to get as many out as they did had me choked up.

There was a story about how a couple Americans - not sure if they were embassy personnel or Marines - went around Saigon personally picking up the tailor who had helped them sew uniforms, and his family, the cooks who had fed them, and their families, and so on; they picked up all kinds of workers for whom they were grateful, and their families.

One South Vietnamese pilot took a Chinook helicopter and landed it near his home in Saigon to rescue his family. It was too big to land on the ship, however, and so they each jumped out of the helicopter from high up. The Marines on the deck caught – caught! – each one, including the baby wrapped in a blanket. The father hovered the Chinook over the water while he got out of his flight suit and stepped out just as it rolled into the water; he lived and boarded the ship with only his underwear, and his saved family.

There was a story about a boatload of South Vietnamese and a few Marines traversing a small river through enemy territory to get to the waiting ships. Just as they entered the area where they thought they would get shot at, a huge storm came out of nowhere and shielded them in sight and sound by the rain. When the storm passed they were out of enemy territory.

There was a scene where the ships loaded with thousands and thousands of people approached the Philippines. The ships with South Vietnamese flags weren’t allowed in. They had to take down their flags, and Americans put up their flags instead. The documentary showed the South Vietnamese lowering their flag and singing their national anthem, saying goodbye to their country, saying goodbye to everything.

The documentary’s website is here. You can read a review of the documentary in the New York Times here.

I’m sorry I didn’t know all these things before.

~~~

[Photo: taken of the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Washington D.C. during a family vacation years ago; this particular section includes the name of a friend's father.]