Most weekends I try to go to the movies. I research the times, plan my pre-movie meal, and venture to the theater usually 15-20 minutes early. Almost every weekend, something disappointing or disconcerting happens in the parking lot or the foyer that prevents me from following through with the viewing.
Not lose sleep type things; more like lose interest.
Generally, people sicken me. It might sound cynical and likely a bit clichéd but sadly, the fact remains.
I watch people and the careless, haphazard way in which they do simple things like park a car, get out, walk to a destination, and enter; often I am jealous of their lack of awareness, but most times I feel blessed by my own. Often I feel like I have taken too seriously the simplest details of life, other times I feel that without doing so, the rest of ones’ life could fall to carelessness.
In a brief but impressive run I saw a woman, husband in tow, grotesquely park her sedan in 1-1/2 spaces, fling the door open & bump the neighboring car, drag a wrapper and a bottle out of the car and into the lot upon exiting (leaving them, of course), bark something at her poor husband, and walk directly in front of a moving car on her life & death mission to reach the theatre (of course getting angry with the driver of the moving car).
Would I have to talk with her in the theatre? No, of course not. Were we even planning on seeing the same movie? Unlikely. If I could get over myself would I likely have done well with 2 hours of mindless relaxation? Definitely.
Problem is, I don’t want to get over it. I don’t want to be where “she” is. I don’t want to do what “she” does. I don’t want to see it just as much if not more than I don’t want to let it affect me. In some way I’m glad it affects me. Feeling the effect is trying, and often makes me feel silly or maladjusted; not feeling the effect would unknowingly make me what I seem to despise. We are often what we despise, though it is worthwhile when discovered to attempt to be otherwise.
If in fact I did not sicken myself in more plentiful and much more profound ways than others ever could, I would feel a fool of another color completely- one that judges from a fake ivory tower, thinking their path has not also been riddled with judge-able acts.
To the contrary, I am the pot simply noticing that the kettle is black.
Not calling it such, yet keenly aware of the differences in the appearance and execution of life between myself and my would-be theatre mate… similar only in physical location, we have arrived there by very different routes and with quite polarizing intentions.