I went to the movies a couple of days ago, and chose to see “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.” This is a work adapted from a 1921 short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, with the screenplay written by Eric Roth (who also wrote “Forrest Gump” - a fact that has prompted several comparisons between the two tales). The film stars Brad Pitt in the title role, with Cate Blanchett (“Daisy”) as the female lead and primary love interest of Benjamin. The film was directed by David Fincher (“Fight Club;” “The Game”).

Despite the comparisons with Forrest Gump, however, I suggest that “Benjamin” is really a meeting of “The Bridges of Madison County” and “The Time Traveler’s Wife.” As in these works, “Benjamin” is, first and foremost, a love story between two people who are doomed in their pursuit of being together long-term. The first comparison works for me because of the initial set-up: stories of relationships disclosed by a senior near death (“Benjamin”) or from beyond the grave (“Bridges”). “Bridges” is also a tale of two people who love each other deeply, yet only have four days really together. Additionally, a sense of fantasy and whimsy with regard to time are pervasive in both “Time Traveler” and “Benjamin.” And, it’s because of the twisted nature of time in both stories that the couples are not able to spend their lives with each other.

The essential premise of the film is that Benjamin is an old man when he is born (shriveled up, suffering from many of the infirmities of old age) and ages backwards until he dies as a dementia-ridden infant. It’s a cradle-to-grave story that stretches one’s imagination, I admit. But the story is told so lovingly, and with such imaginative special effects, that this suspension of reality, for me, for awhile, was entirely successful. Film critic Roger Ebert, interestingly, disagrees. He says:

[“Benjamin”] tells the story of a man who is old when he is born and an infant when he dies. All those around him, everyone he knows and loves, grow older in the usual way, and he passes them on the way down. As I watched the film, I became consumed by a conviction that this was simply wrong.

Well, Roger: I’m so sorry. You’re the one who is wrong. This entire film works, as it eloquently tells a (gut-wrenchingly moving) story of undying love between these two people.

As Benjamin lives his life, first as a young, old man, he meets the granddaughter of one of the residents of the “home” he lives in. He is immediately taken with her, but while Daisy looks her actual childhood age (of course), Benjamin appears to be in his 70s (or so). As the story unfolds, Daisy and Benjamin meet again and again, but never when it is really “age appropriate” or convenient...until, finally, in middle age, they are able to be together. And their love for each other can be mutually acknowledged and consummated.

 Their coming together seems to take an eternity (in years, and surely in movie minutes), but appears to be nothing short of pre-destined. Their time as a couple is blissful, intense, and oh-so-short. The period during which they were actually able to share their lives, for me, demonstrates a model for what true love can be. Each revels in the other, and they want nothing more out of life than the relationship (...the words, when they come, that Daisy utters to Benjamin: “my love for you is everything to me”...are supremely poignant).

In the end, though, being with each other becomes impossible. Benjamin keeps getting younger, Daisy older. After their child is born and has had her first birthday, Benjamin leaves. Both of them are in love with each other forever, and yet, in a reflection of the basic unfairness of life, are only able to be together for a short time.

So. Entirely. Sad.

And, yet, perhaps, a lot like how life really is. Whether you’re living it forwards or backwards.

This is not really a “feel-good” movie. However, unless you’re made out of hardened steel, this is a movie that will make you feel. I recommend it. Go see it. Go feel it. 

As I awakened very early this morning, for one of those ungodly pre-dawn visits to the bathroom, I was aware that I had been dreaming of writing a blog post entitled “Dreams & Confessions.” At the time, I remember being quite clear on how the essay would go. Of course, I went right back to sleep, got up a couple of hours later, and all that had stuck with me was the title. So, what I’ve done right here, right now, is to sit down at the keyboard to see if my fingers are able to fill in the blanks...

An extremely vague memory of my dream-time last night is a snapshot of an experience that is, well, really just a dream. The scene is one where I am walking down the sidewalk with a young woman I feel very close to. As we are about to cross the street at an intersection, I reach to take her hand just as she simultaneously reaches out for mine. The unusual thing about the gesture is, I realize, this is the first time we’ve touched. And we’ve both decided to do it for the first time - at the same time. We take each other’s hand, look each other in the eye, and both smile radiantly.

And that’s the sum total of my memory of the dream.

I don’t know who she is. Or, if in the dream, I am the same (younger) age as she, or if I am the age I am now. Or where we are. Or how we know each other. Or why we’re together on this particular sunny afternoon.

This small slice of time reminds me a little bit of the one described by “Sam” (Tom Hanks) in Sleepless in Seattle. Sam said, “I don’t know. When I met her, it was so clear. I just knew. You touch her for the first time, and suddenly... you’re home. It’s almost like...Magic.”

So, if that’s the dream part of this essay...what could I possibly have to confess?

Well: that I believe Magic Happens? It would seem that I’ve already confessed that. Just recently, in fact.

So, I guess I could further confess that I have wide-awake fantasies (not just dreams) of this kind a lot. For as many years now that I’ve been alone, and as much as I try to talk myself into believing that I’m OK alone...well, I would prefer not to be. And at no time of year is it more difficult to have these kinds of magical fantasies than the holidays.

At this time of year, especially, I think about having someone’s hand to hold. To have somebody to help me warm my feet at night. And someone to share life, love and presents with on Christmas Eve.

This I confess.

During the span of the three-plus years I’ve been blogging, I have offered an ongoing discussion about various aspects of my health. Most of those musings have had to do with my struggles with chronic pain, especially in the aftermath of my job loss in 2004. This entry is a very brief follow-up to my July 7 report entitled “On Vibrancy and Health.”

As you know, I’ve led a roller-coaster type of emotional existence with regard to my physical well-being – as I’ve explored a variety of alternative therapies and approaches to cope with my body-wide muscular pain. My condition is one that modern “Western medicine” has been totally unable to diagnose or assist with.

Last Saturday, my Feldenkrais practitioner declared that I looked “good” and “healthy” – repeating observations that she’d been making in recent weeks. We’ve been working together for a year now, during which time I have admittedly made remarkable progress. Additionally, she offered the opinion that not only do I look healthy, but that I am healthy.

I believe that she’s right. I no longer have pain as the primary identifier of who I am. I am a basically-healthy person who experiences some pain. I am not a person whose life is dominated by pain and pain-control.

Of course, I have to be careful. I attend to, and nurture, my physical health as much as anyone I know. I watch closely what I put into my body and stay away from “junk.” I have a regimen of dietary supplements that I won’t do without. I take hot baths, go to Jazzercise classes and Feldenkrais lessons, walk every day (about eight months a year, anyway), and do stretches & movements morning and evening to focus on relaxing my irritable muscles. I keep a regular schedule and make sure I get enough sleep.

Fortunately, along with all of this, I live in a geography and inhabit a living-space that I feel comfortable with. And, I have a mostly-stable and supportive work environment that has made a huge difference in my life.

Things, right now, seem to be working on a personal level. Now, if the economy would just start to turn around and offer the world a little more hope, that would be great...

News reports circulated yesterday regarding the latest research on the topic of “happiness.” As it turns out, empirical data now exist to support the notion that your emotional state is influenced, to a measureable degree, by those around you. Given that I’ve long hypothesized that anxiety is a contagious condition, it’s no stretch at all for me to imagine that happiness is as well. It seems that the closer you are geographically to a happy person the more likely you are to be happy. However, for the happiness to be “spread,” the connection you have with the other person needs to be mediated by face-to-face contact. Not technology.

Interesting.

I recently wrote on the topic of “Digital Intimacy” where I suggested that a social networking site (and the “ambient awareness” of others) is a way for a person to feel less alone. The implication of feeling “less alone” is, naturally, to be “more happy.” (At least I think that’s the way it should work.)

Although I was long-involved in “social networking” before I even knew what the term meant, I had resisted signing up for Facebook (or anything similar) for quite a long time. However, my experience is that being first on Facebook, and now on Twitter, has led to me feeling more connected. And happier.

I have to admit, though, it’s face-to-face encounters that really do the most for me. And while “digital intimacy” is something we can all now settle for, it really is a shallow imitation of “real” intimacy.

And what is “real”? For me, intimacy it is a sense of closeness and connectedness involving trust and vulnerability – in essence, the ability of two people to share themselves completely (or nearly so) with each other. While many individuals tend to think of intimacy in terms of the physical dimension, I tend to view intimacy more in emotional terms. And for two people to be truly emotionally connected, I suggest is has to be in person.

Emailing and/or tweeting is all well and good. But in those mediums, I can’t listen to your tone of voice, look you in the eye, gently touch your knee while making a point, or hug you when we part. These are the elements of human interaction that lead me to feeling truly, intimately connected. And happy.

One Friday evening, during the summer of 1998 in Corvallis, Oregon, I was just starting a personal-growth weekend. I had not been feeling well all day, especially as the afternoon and early evening progressed, but I decided I would participate in the workshop anyway. About an hour into the evening, I left the group and went to the restroom...and experienced a very big surprise when I began to pee pure blood. (Hang with me here, the story will get better. I promise.)

I’ll skip the really gory details, but I did end up spending the entire night in the emergency room of Good Samaritan Hospital. I was probed, tested, monitored and examined by not only the ER doc (who looked like he was in junior high school) but by the on-call urologist. Even before the consultation with the urologist, however, Doogie Howser had a diagnosis for me: bladder cancer. He informed me of his diagnosis while standing on the other side of the room, slipping the word “carcinoma” into the conversation as if I wouldn’t notice, while he was visibly backing away from me toward the door. What a piece of work this guy was!

When I clarified that he was actually telling me I had CANCER, I informed him... “well, it’s at times like these that I tend to experience high anxiety. A good, strong sedative would really be appropriate right now.” He obliged. And, a little while after it kicked in, I was a lot more relaxed...even good humored and tending toward the philosophical. I remarked to “C” – who was with me at the workshop and had taken me to the hospital – “well, see, this is why I get up every morning...you just never know what’s going to happen on any given day.”

Now, at this point, I had just been diagnosed with cancer. A little while later, the urologist would agree with Doogie’s diagnosis. Here I was, my life about to take a dramatic downward turn, and I was joking. Actually, the drug was simply allowing me to be relaxed enough to act as a truth serum. I really was espousing my philosophy of life: you never know what the coming day will bring. You might as well embrace it when it comes.

Shit really does happen, though...and sometimes it is just terribly difficult to be all that happy about it. Thankfully, for me, that night the doctors were wrong. I did not have bladder cancer, as a procedure in an urologist’s office two days later would confirm. (Apparently, I had merely passed a kidney stone.)

Sometimes, of course, totally delightful things happen when you least expect them to. I had an example of that yesterday when I went to a local Starbucks to do some writing. My “usual spot” in the store was taken, so I put my computer bag down at the next table. I went to the counter to order my tea, then returned to my seat and set up my machine. As I was settling in, the woman sitting at “my” table remarked on the Apple logo I had placed on my Dell PC, and started asking me some questions about the relative merits of PC laptops vs. Macs. (She is going to buy a new computer soon.)

Well, one thing led to another. I learned she was a blogger, so I asked for her web address and I looked it up while we talked (across tables). We continued talking like that for a bit, but then, as the conversation went on, I invited her to sit at my table. We eventually shared much of our personal biographies, including a number of stories of family and relationship issues -- topics that tend to really expose a lot about a person. She was (is) an exceptional listener, and didn’t back away from eye contact. She was non-judgmental in her approach...as I was feeling really listened to and totally accepted. We covered many other topics as well, such as inclusion and human touch and letting go. Our conversation rambled all over the place: for a total of three hours, during which time I didn’t look at my watch even once.

She eventually had to leave. She was meeting her father for dinner. And, then she had plans to drive back home to Los Angeles this morning. Which is what I’m assuming she’s doing right now as I write this.

You just never know, though...what any day is going to bring. Yesterday brought a little bit of magic into this otherwise drab life of mine.

Soundtrack Suggestion

If you believe in magic, come along with me
Well dance until morning ’til there’s just you and me
And maybe, if the music is right
I’ll meet you tomorrow, sort of late at night
And we’ll go dancing, baby, then you’ll see
How the magic’s in the music and the music’s in me

 (“Do You Believe in Magic” – The Lovin’ Spoonful)