I stumbled across an old favorite film of mine last night - one I haven't seen in many years - called Shirley Valentine. In it, our lead, a put upon, middle-aged, bored Liverpudlian housewife who has no idea where the sassy, outspoken, rebellious girl of her youth went, buried she is under a rubble of motherhood, working class life, and perpetual servitude at the hands of her well meaning but self-absorbed, over-worked and ultimately miserable husband. Things have turned out terribly disappointing, Shirley laments to her kitchen wall, "I realized, I've lead a little life." She wants desperately to create a more meaningful existence and rediscover her former self - but where to turn and what to do?
The answer arrives in the form of a close friend's offer to join her on a 2-week vacation to Greece. Shirley has dreamed of seeing the world but thus far, has never made it beyond the borders of Liverpool, let alone abroad. The thought of going to Greece both elates and terrifies her at the same time. What will her family do without her? After all, who is going to wait on them hand and foot, a point they make more than clear when she announces her intentions? All that aside, Shirley wonders if she really has the balls to venture away from her little life anyway. And will she like what she sees when alone with herself for the first time in over two decades? After enduring further, brutal criticism and judgment about her decision to go, a fed up Shirley sneaks away and heads for the airport, determined not to let her family deny her curiosity about the world any longer.
Predictably, though gorgeously crafted, she reconnects with her old self, stretched and forced out of the comfort zone of her "little life", until she re-emerges a woman finally comfortable in her own shoes, deeply fulfilled at having stepped out into the vast unknown - in this case Greece - and decides to stay. "There's no reason for me to come home. They'll be mad at first but at some point they'll get it." Shortly after, her husband shows up, following a series of failed attempts to get her to return to England. Shirley observes as she sees him walking down the sandy beach path towards her, "He needs a rest too, from his life. He need to relax." He walks right past her, not recognizing his reinvigorated wife at first. As he joins her at a table perched on the edge of the ocean, we fade to black knowing this remote Greek island will restore him too. And ultimately their marriage.
Though I brush this wonderful film with the broadest of strokes, Shirley's quest and introspection hit a nerve. Sure our paths have been very different. I've yet to truly be in my comfort zone, at least not for very long. I attribute much of my success in life to constantly shaking things up. Just as I get to really know an aspect of my life, I switch things up by taking the next logical, but often unnerving step to ensure my evolution and growth is a never-ending process. Shirley doesn't discover this well into her 40's. Despite her latent realization, she has reminded me to ask myself one very important questions; have I done the most with my life so far or have I wished and pissed most of it away?
My 63 year old mother often talks about the recent realization of having 20 or so years left on the planet. When that perspective hits hard, it's natural, and healthy to take stock of how one will use the remaining time to the fullest. While I may have only reached the half way mark at 40 (should all go well), I've felt a similar shake up occur since turning the corner on my fourth decade. It's half over. More or less. I think of the days and weeks I merely tolerated, wishing it were Friday, or Tuesday or some other day I thought would make me far happier than wherever I was at the time. It saddens me to think what I might have accomplished, learned, soaked up and evolved into had I taken more care with my youth and the intervening days between then and middle age? If I had only appreciated the less significant moments of my daily existence, instead of the moments on the highlight reel of my life. For isn't that what our time on earth is primarily composed of? The little things? Sure the big, shiny events are the things we talk about the most, remember fondly when we need a pick-me-up, and brag about to friends and strangers alike. But they are few and far between. It's the spaces in between that count. They are our every day.
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