Once In A Lifetime

Approximately fifteen years ago, after my parent's divorce, my dad lived in an apartment in Cambridge; it had a television, but no cable, so my sister and I typically chose to watch videos from the collection that my dad and his girlfriend had accumulated over the years. Amidst the collection was the Talking Heads "Stop Making Sense" video - the one in which David Byrne prances around in an enormous suit.

I loved it. Loved.

And, before the words even meant anything to me, there I was, chanting along with the illustrious, talented Mr. Byrne:

You may ask yourself: well... how did I get here?

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground

You may ask yourself
How do I work this?
You may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!

...

Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...

And, now, I do wonder often, "How did I get here?"

Other times, as I go through the motions of each day with the routine function of a screen door, I hear a little voice in the back of my head say, "Same as it ever was.."

Not much has changed, huh? I was once a twelve year old girl, legs crossed, sitting on the floor in front of a television cart, shoulders bouncing, singing along to "Once In A Lifetime." And, though I couldn't have known then what I know now - that things change when one considers the beauty of aging, progressing, making mistakes and learning from them - I didn't even question what the words meant. Not once. Not even once in the past fifteen years since Talking Heads became part of my listening rotation.

How did I get here?

Tonight, I'm wondering about a certain "here." Tonight, "here" is here: I'm in my bedroom, eating a mini box of Russell Stover's Valentine's Day chocolates, which I purchased for myself while buying carpet cleaner, crackers, and dog food at Target, and I'm watching my favorite quarter-life-crisis movie, Reality Bites.

Right now, it's reached my least favorite part of the movie - the part where Winona Ryder and Ben Stiller share a Big Gulp and sit on the back end of his convertible after their date.

I hate this part of the movie for two reasons.

First, Peter fucking Frampton is playing on the car stereo. "Oh baby I love your way..." (wretch) I hate Peter Frampton.

Secondly, the conversation between the two characters is painful. And it pisses me off because I think that's... forgive the overt parallelism... reality.

I'm sure I've sounded exactly that way before. You know... the way you sound you make when you're laughing way too hard at a joke that's not really that funny, just because it's the one way you can let go of that nervous ball of energy that's been building up in your chest the whole time you've been talking to the person you want to make out with. And when you laugh, you reach your hand out, touching the other person briefly to emphasize just how funny you think they are, and just how badly you want to touch them.

Or is that just me?

Anyway. It's nothing you want to see on screen. But, that could be what this movie is all about, and it might be why I love it. Because in this movie, people lose their jobs, people have jobs they hate and friends they love, people need, hurt, fight and fall in love. And they don't fall in love with the people who are "right," they fall in love with the people who might be wrong, but feel right... the people who might not have the perfect job, money in the bank, or any general success.

And for some reason, that's inspiring to me.

Someday, it won't be the same as it ever was. And, someday, I will be able to articulate how it was that I got somewhere.

And someday, someone else will buy the Valentine's Day chocolates.