…on the characters in old black and white home movies. Everyone in those frames has “…done gone over.” They’ve paid their dues, lived their lives, suffered their hardships, played out their stories, and left the here and now to the rest of us. You can often see their lives in the faces, faces that speak of troubles few today can appreciate. Some played out their scenes with love and support, some alone; some with joy and acceptance, others in bitterness.
Maybe that’s why I envy them. Their reels are closed out, developed and stored away in dusty boxes. But the rest of us…we’re still making our movies, too often searching for a plot. Is there one, or are our lives really just a bunch of discreet scenes with no tenable connection? Contentment requires finding (or creating) a thread that ties them all together. It’s called meaning.