Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

The movies from the 1960's have a certain quality I adore. (The image above is from one of my personal favorites, How to Steal a Million.)

I like the texture of the image quality - that there's always a scratch or a blip gives the screen some character. (No pun intended...) I like the heaviness of every sound that the microphones pick up; I like the saturation of the photography and the color, and I like that everything in the camera's eye appears to be somewhat softened, blurred, almost foggy - but yet there's so much else happening that it never feels blunt.

And, okay, fine, let's face it - if you've met me, you know I also like the hair, the makeup, the clothes, the drinks, the conversation, the banter... the list goes on.

Lately, I feel like I see the world through the lens of 1960's cinema.

The air is heavy like I know I'm breathing it in every time I inhale. I can feel it fill my lungs. All the surrounding sounds are sincere, heavy, and purposeful. Glasses of whiskey make a thud when they hit the bar. Car horns make a waaaooogah noise when they sound. My wallet makes a distinct click when I close it. The colors around me - even the dull, dreary colors of the dead foliage littering my overgrown backyard - are in technicolor. And every image has been affected by a static-y filter; all the sharp things have fuzzy edges, like the harshest of things are being filtered through some sort of lens that makes them soft.

Something's changed. It wasn't always like this.

Prior to this moment, I saw a sharp world. I'm not familiar enough with cinema history to offer you a movie metaphor for that emotion - but you get the idea. Like how a dull knife is the one that will cut you the most harshly. A dull, sharp world.

Up until recently, I was just going through the motions, once in a while coming up for air, and then retreating - my world wasn't inspiring me anymore. There was no texture, no sound, no color. Up until recently, I was walking through my life like it was a learned behavior, not something I could change, manipulate, or enliven. When did I lose that understanding? When did I just become... complacent?

But, lately, I feel creative again. I feel something new. I feel like writing more than anything else. I feel like communicating. I feel like expressing.

I feel different.

A part of me that was hibernating, hiding, or maybe it was just hindered, woke up recently. And having it back has made me realize how much I've missed it. That little piece of me, the one that makes the most sense, is back.