What Kind of Person Are You?
How I Got Here
I remember driving home one night when I was seventeen, down one of the main streets in my hometown. There's a shopping center jutting off it on one side, and on the other there are hotels, restaurants, a Shell station.
As my car slid past them, I thought about how this area had changed in just my lifetime, with businesses going out and going in. Remodeling and paint jobs, construction work making the parking lots more easy to navigate. And I wondered in what ways they would change once I was gone, what they'd look like in a decade, two, three.
At a stoplight, I thought about how I'd remember these places once I no longer lived here--the way they light up at night, how the rubber soles of my shoes sound smacking against the cement of the sidewalks and asphalt of the parking lots, the decorations they put up during the holidays.
While this place was a part of me, important as a fragment of my life, I realized that in no way would I be important to this place once I left it, my mark fleeting. It wasn't a lonely feeling, and sometimes I wonder if it should have been. For some reason, I found comfort in the expanse of the universe, a kind of reassurance in being insignificant, in reality.
It got me thinking: Is this the kind of person I am? People talk about experiencing a defining moment in life, one where they know who they are and how they are and-- This is mine.
That, of course, begged the questions: How would other people define the type of person they are? If a person had to pick a moment that illustrates what kind of person they are, which would they choose? What does make a person who they are? Is there a common consensus, or are the answers as varied as shades of blue?
And that's why I started this project. Why I travel to various cities and look for people willing to answer my question. (That part isn't too difficult, as people like to talk about themselves; it's human nature.) Why I spend late nights editing footage on my laptop, drinking my weight in coffee and wishing I hadn't quit smoking three years ago.
It's part of what drives me, and occasionally I wonder what I'm going to do once it's complete, and I submit this (in a usable form) to film festivals, ending this chapter of my life. At times, the uncertainty is frightening. But, for now, I don't worry about that. I look at what I have, wonder what else I need, and I keep asking.
As my car slid past them, I thought about how this area had changed in just my lifetime, with businesses going out and going in. Remodeling and paint jobs, construction work making the parking lots more easy to navigate. And I wondered in what ways they would change once I was gone, what they'd look like in a decade, two, three.
At a stoplight, I thought about how I'd remember these places once I no longer lived here--the way they light up at night, how the rubber soles of my shoes sound smacking against the cement of the sidewalks and asphalt of the parking lots, the decorations they put up during the holidays.
While this place was a part of me, important as a fragment of my life, I realized that in no way would I be important to this place once I left it, my mark fleeting. It wasn't a lonely feeling, and sometimes I wonder if it should have been. For some reason, I found comfort in the expanse of the universe, a kind of reassurance in being insignificant, in reality.
It got me thinking: Is this the kind of person I am? People talk about experiencing a defining moment in life, one where they know who they are and how they are and-- This is mine.
That, of course, begged the questions: How would other people define the type of person they are? If a person had to pick a moment that illustrates what kind of person they are, which would they choose? What does make a person who they are? Is there a common consensus, or are the answers as varied as shades of blue?
And that's why I started this project. Why I travel to various cities and look for people willing to answer my question. (That part isn't too difficult, as people like to talk about themselves; it's human nature.) Why I spend late nights editing footage on my laptop, drinking my weight in coffee and wishing I hadn't quit smoking three years ago.
It's part of what drives me, and occasionally I wonder what I'm going to do once it's complete, and I submit this (in a usable form) to film festivals, ending this chapter of my life. At times, the uncertainty is frightening. But, for now, I don't worry about that. I look at what I have, wonder what else I need, and I keep asking.