Last night a boy I don’t know took me to see a movie I hadn’t heard of, and when we left I told him it gave me something to not think about, although I knew I’d think about it more when I had some time alone. The movie was Paterson, and this is not a review.
Paterson is a movie about a man who shares a name with his city, and so he simultaneously blends in and stands out, and there’s some symbolism in that, I am sure. Paterson is a poet who drives a city bus because sometimes poets need day jobs in the meantime/for a lifetime. To a poet, there is poetry in the mundane, and overheard conversations are contextless bursts of well-written dialogue. Paterson is a city that few significant people hail from, but the takeaway, I think, is that there could always be one more, and that maybe significance – and its opposite – are subjective.
The takeaway, I think, is that I too am important in my insignificance, and that maybe one day (regardless) I will produce something significant, to someone/to anyone/to myself, at least. I too enjoy writing words on blank pages, and I too want to create something that will make my city/myself proud. The takeaway, I think, is to start, and continue, and to never give up, even if you’re standing stuck with uncertainty and a dog eats your words.