Now is not a montage
Now is not a montage
When times get tough, think about the stories you love most.
All I wanted last year (and, let’s be honest, a good portion of this year) was to get through my grief as quickly as possible. I felt like the life I was living, simply put, wasn’t worth living.
During an especially rough patch, I told my therapist how fed up I was. I compared my tortuous days to a movie montage—the part that directors zoom through in order to get back to the real storyline.
My therapist shook her head. “Katie, this is the movie,” she said. “You’re living the story that people want to watch.”
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. We don’t connect with characters who have it all figured out. A story might start with someone who has it easy, but the plot begins once their life changes abruptly. Or we might dive right in, getting to know a protagonist who has plenty of challenges to overcome from the get-go.
(Granted, most movies end with an unrealistic happily-ever-after, but that’s another essay for another day.)
I’ve thought back to that comment from my therapist many times in the past year. It’s helped me to reframe countless moments that I may have otherwise beat myself up for. When I cried to the point of throwing up on New Year’s Eve? That was an especially low point. It was also a gut-wrenching movie moment! And when I rallied the next day and started a 2018 gratitude journal? That was something worth cheering for.
I’ve never been the best at being kind to myself. And while it might seem silly to imagine myself as a movie character, it’s a mind trick that my sweet dumb brain can get behind. I wind up feeling compassion for the character version of me and more invested in my success. It’s a fitting trick, too: Jamie loved movies, and loved to talk about movies, more than anyone I’ve ever met. He also loved self-improvement and growth. I’d give anything to hear his thoughts on reframing life’s hardest moments as your own life movie. He’d probably have his cast picked out in no time.
I wish I knew about this tip earlier in life. Stories are all about the journey—it’s what we connect with. As cliché as it is, it’s the path, not the destination, that matters.
My life doesn’t feel as bleak as it did a year or even a few months ago. My days are less about muddling through the fog of grief and more about piecing life back together and trying to figure out what lies ahead. But things are still plenty hard. Sometimes, I get walloped by the heaviness of it all—the weight of the extreme sadness I’ve been carrying around. My days might be easier, but accepting all the ways my life has changed remains incredibly hard to do.
I still have plenty of dark days ahead of me, plenty of tears left to cry, plenty of challenging moments to face. I have plenty to look forward to, too. Resilience is a lovely thing to celebrate, whether in movies or real life, and the sweetest celebrations come from the toughest journeys.
My movie isn’t over yet.
xoxo
KHG
Good job, brain
I'm (still) reading: The Life List of Adrian Mandrick by Chris White.
I’m currently inspired by: Resolve, the new album by Atlanta-based musician OKCello, aka Okorie Andwele Johnson. It’s provided the best soundtrack for getting work done.
I'm currently aiming to: Find peace as I remember and honor Jamie tomorrow. He’d be turning 34. I’ll be celebrating with cupcakes and an outdoors movie, and by sharing memories and quality time with people I love dearly.
Additional resources
TED Radio Hour: What allows us to endure our darkest moments
The Journey, by Mary Oliver
Medium: How to Follow the Hero’s Journey
For your sweet dumb brain
The next time you’re faced with a really challenging moment, tell yourself, “this will be great for the movie.” Or “this will be great for the book.” It takes you out of feeling bad for yourself and reminds you that you’re someone with a story worth sharing. This mantra works especially well when you’re faced with a date or special event that’s going hilariously wrong. Audiences love that stuff.
My Sweet Dumb Brain is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates. Photo by Denise Jans on Unsplash.