I went to the doctor the other day and I found it a rather odd experience. I wasn’t dying by any stretch, but my cellphone had died and so I had to resolve myself to looking at the ceiling tile and green florescent lighting. After seeing the doctor I was told to go home and not drink as much coffee, seeing as 5-6 cups might be seen as too much. Being a writer, this might mean the end of me.
I found myself at an interesting thought that has been repeated over the course of my life in either film or literature; life is a series of moments. This isn’t an original notion, thought or idea, and hell nothing really is original when you really begin to dissect anything; but it was a thought that finally registered in my walnut shaped brain. Our minds are not movie cameras, they do not pick up everything and remember it, at least for the majority of us. We all live in a series of moments and I am not talking about film quality moments, I mean snapshots that relate to a sensation and then teleport us to a point in the past that has long since faded from memory.
Even now moments escape me like a car driving through a fog, and this happens to all of us until we need that moment to reappear again.
I know this is rather abstract, but keep following me here.
Like I said, this is nothing new, Roy Batty says famously in Blade Runner, “All those moments will be lost in time, like, tears, in the rain.” When it comes down to it, when we finally kick-off, we no longer have anything anymore. We still have those who live on after us and then once they are gone we are but a murmur or a fable or nothing more than a breath of air.
You might think this is depressing, sad, so why think about it?
I’ve thought in depth on the subject, I think about it a lot. I’m not suicidal by any means, hell I don’t even think about when I am I gone or anything like that; it’s more about experiencing something for spurts throughout the day. I mean really taking it in, hearing the sounds of an office, the phones going off, the tones of conversations happening in the corners of the place, but most important, hearing the silence between these things.
It is in these moments that time can stop, and the world halts, and we find ourselves experiencing what everything is and isn’t without us in the room. There will never be another 23rd of April, 2015. It will never be overcast in this same way again. It will never be that I have that peanut shell on my desk at that same angle.
We live in a series of never again’s, ends, and goodbyes. Yet we’re taught that these things are bad, that we should never truly dwell on them, but these emotions or points in time are as real as bird shit hitting your head. I have always found it silly that those topics are not something to talk about or think about because no matter what we all leave through a door one last time to get some eggs from the market.
We cannot control our endings, we cannot even control our lives on some days, but what we can do is make our lives the best damn show for not only ourselves, but for those who bare witness to it. To make moments that stick through the fog like a lighthouse on a cliff or horn in a storm or a fart in an opera, “Hey, the show stunk anyway, I thought no one would notice.”