“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”
— The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
I feel like in a lot of cases, we find ourselves saying, "the book is so much better than the movie". At least I suppose, that is what the intellectuals say. A group of which I cannot join because I confess I never truly understood the story of the Great Gatsby, until I watched the 2013 movie. Sure I had read the book and watched the old film, but I guess it isn't until now, that I am of more age and slightly more knowledge can I understand Fitzgerald's gift.
Sometimes we (I) dream too much. With all good intentions we dream of having a remarkable life with a remarkable person, fulfilling remarkably romantic things and in a way become blinded of human realities. We are fickle, occasionally indecisive, enjoy security, money, and probably shy from responsibility -- mostly the responsibility of how we impact each other.
Lately, I have been playing a game with myself where I say "ok, how do I really feel about this situation / person" without worrying how awful (lol, a lot of times) it may be. and compare it to the more 'socially acceptable' response. And compare those to the response, "neighbor". All just to be, if not with anyone else, more honest with myself. And maybe I will be more honest with them. I'm imploding.
All this to say, we live for the hope of a better situation, and hopefully for the hope of a better self. One that begins again with the summer. Hopefully our life can be better than the movie and even better than the book. Ah, perhaps that is a tough one to accomplish. There he goes, dreaming again. Maybe dreaming too much. Maybe talking to myself too much...