I am a cinematographer

I’m so behind on my year-end, month-long Reverb 11 blogging project, where I reflect on my year in a series of daily blog posts. Today I am writing on YOUR LIFE IS A MOVIE: Pick and describe a few moments this year that defined you, your life, your world.


I lean on the railing, looking over at the downtown lights beginning to flicker on as the dusk fades. I see this pose in movies all the time done by other people, and now it’s my turn. I won’t be coming back here for awhile, I realize. I know I should say goodbye. But there’s a stubborn silence inside me, a strange blankness. And that’s when I realize, I said goodbye a long time ago.

So I don’t say goodbye. Instead I turn and walk away, ceding the view to the strolling couples, the pensive old ladies, the kids horsing around on the promenade. They can have the view, I think. It belongs to everyone, everywhere, everytime. It will always be there.


I type “The End.” It’s done, I think to myself. Little do I know.


I sit in the hospital room, thinking it is remarkably cheerless for a room in which a newborn baby sleeps in. There’s like a border of tiny, grim-looking ducks rimming the perimeter of the ceiling, and the curtains are fraying at the hem. The superstitious part of me worries that this is a bad omen; there’s always a superstitious part of me operating, making deals with the Master of the Universe.

Then I look down at the new baby, his little hands covered in tiny socks. He’s so little, like someone carved him out of a tube of Pillsbury dough or something. He yawns. Already bored with life, I crack. But I pick him up and I’m so charmed at the way his little eyes blink and peer up at me, and my new nephew and I meet properly for the first time.


I stare out the window as we wait on the runway, watching the planes line up, waiting to take off. For the first time in a while, I feel really, really so excited, like a bottle of soda water all shook up and ready to pop.


Lighting sparklers in the dark and running around among the fireflies. I am one year older. A few days later we are watching the most bombastic fireworks display ever, and I pretend that they are all for me.

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