Last night I had the pleasure of watching the film, "Once," directed by John Carney. I know...it came out in 2006, but for whatever reason it was only recently that I had the pleasure of enjoying this Irish-hewn epic.
The movie was about an unknown, struggling Irish guitar/vocalist, fixing Hoover vacuums by day while playing on the streets of Dublin by night. Enter a relentless immigrant gal who romantically interrupts his life, dragging her vacuum along as an excuse to see him, pushing him to at last record an album.
The movie and music were remarkable, but the reason I bring it up? I was captivated by a subtle undertone throughout the movie that was more of a presumption than any intended theme. Entranced in its story I fell into the lives of simple places and the humble homes of its heroins. The immigrant character after her late night of work, pulled up the covers of a bed not much bigger than her daughter's crib, in an apartment with her mother, where the three neighboring men would come to watch television on the only tv in the complex.
Sometimes I have to say that I find myself overwhelmed by the pressing demand of American culture which can often stipulate a never ceasing emphasis to have more. But how much do we really need? Does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things what we have? All the things in the world cannot replace the remembrance of an enjoyed evening of friends talking over a simple cup of coffee, tea, a glass of wine or beer. And consider how much we hinder kindred relationships when we shore up greater obstacles in their way, belaying them with hinted shames of presumed expectations.
I realize that this is a bit off keel from my typical banter, still I can't help but reignite the ever kindred company of companionship, humble gifts , and un-presumed dwellings and rally to them the champion of their well-abled cause: simplicity. My thoughts are only mine, but I hope to urge myself and my listener to forgo the presumed profit of privilege for the greater fortunes of low-lit laughter and tears.
A link to the podcast.