1) Everything happens when it's supposed to happen. Everything that happens is a resulting confluence of other happenings and it does so for a reason. What that reason is, and who or what determines it, I don't know. But in my mind, that's how it is.
2) We have a finite amount of time with the people we meet, and all we can do is be grateful for it and enjoy it while it lasts, learn something from it, and let it go when it's run its course. There's no point in trying to hold onto something that has faded away; all that will do is cause you grief. Sometimes I think we try to hold on when we feel interrupted and transplanted--when we're not prepared for the end. Then we don't want to let go. But other times, I think we're given signs, warnings, that the going has gotten rough. We then come to see that perhaps, that a relationship has become tumultuous and corruptive and is doing more harm than good, or that it isn't just changing--it's wilting. That can be tricky, because change can be embraced and both parties can adapt, but some things cannot be overcome. That was the tragedy of The Goat--Martin, Stevie, and Billy loved each other, but something so deeply unsettling and life-altering had occurred, that they did not know if their love for each other could overcome this event that had shaken them each to their core--that had caused them to reevaluate everything they thought they knew.
But I digress. As so often happens at 3 in the morning. Anyway, that's what Benjamin Button reminded me of, with the wide array of characters that Benjamin encountered throughout his life. I'd understand if a critic faulted the script with introducing too many supporting characters that had a very minimal amount of screen time. That worked, to me, though, because it felt real. There were people that Benjamin was close with for years of his life, yet there were some who had a lot of influence over him that he only knew for a short time. Funny enough, even though he was growing younger all the time, he almost never looked back once someone was gone. He just took what he'd learned and loved and moved on to the next stage of his life, the next adventure, the next project. He stayed in the moment. It really is the richest way of living, I think.
And by learning to let go, I don't mean learning not to care. In a way, I think learning to care requires one to learn to let go. And acceptance doesn't often come over night. Though it'd be nice if it did.
I've discovered that I find a lot of comfort and hope in Bruce's words, though, in "Atlantic City":
Everything dies, baby, that's a fact,But maybe everything that dies, some day comes back.
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