The Secret Life of Optimists

Okay, show of hands: how many people here have seen The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)? I have several friends who hate it, several who adore it, and several who look at me with confused but polite expressions on their faces when I ask if they've seen it.

On a basic level, Walter Mitty is a film about a hard-core day-dreamer in love with a girl at work he's never spoken to, who finds himself saddled with discovering the baffling whereabouts of a vital photograph ("Quintessence") missing from his workplace. We all like to pull for the underdog, especially one with a heart and imagination as endearing as Walter's. But at its core, the film is a celebration of imagination, optimism, friendship, art, adventure...all the things that make up the delightful parts of life.Walter Mitty works at Life Magazine and the company's motto will always inspire me:

"To see the world,
Things dangerous to come to,
To see behind walls,
Draw closer,
To find each other,
And to feel.
That is the purpose of life."

 I suppose the reason I love The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (apart from the stunning and artistic way the film was shot) is because it is a story about a person like me. A person with an imagination that colors his world brighter than usual. A person who has more than once spaced out in a conversation, totally enveloped in What Could Happen. A person who sees possibility everywhere, in everyone. A person who has within his mind, a million outcomes of a million situations and is poised just so, waiting to see which will really come to pass and where it might take him.

This first week of 2015 has been amazing. I am not exactly sure why except that I have lived every day with this glorious sensation of Just Around the River Bend practically sparking out of me. 2015 is, so far, an open year. I don't have many plans. Those I do have are just sketches, waiting to be filled with color by the adventures God lets me stumble across. Exciting things are lurking in the corners. I just know it. I don't have a reason for knowing it, but somehow I do. Seriously, put away your raised eyebrows. There are no secrets here. Just a flush on my cheeks and my heart beating a little smidgen faster than usual because something is coming. The unknown is all around me and there's something in the wind that makes me so terribly excited for this year. And yet, I feel a little like Jane and Michael Banks after Bert has done his rigmarole of: "You think...you...wink, you do a double-blink, you close your eyes and...."

Jane cocks her head, looks at Bert and says:

 "Is something s'posed to happen?"

That's how I feel right now. Is something s'posed to happen? Will it? I have my eye on several situations in friends' lives that could bloom into straight-up, real time fairy-tales or epic-saga adventures. I'm waiting for the next part of the story, conscious that any moment could catapult them (and me, vicariously) into a crazy, practically unheard-of new world. In my own life, things move along as usual. I spend my days doing life in technicolor. The people at the grocery-store are not just people. I mean, they are just people but not just people. I believe in the rich old truth that my life is a story and each component is part of that tale. Therefore, the man behind me in line at the grocery store could turn out to be important. The lady who cuts in front of me in traffic. The bank teller I saw twice in one day. The man in the window of the National Press Club Building. The woman whose package I rescued off the metro who I finally got back in contact with. My brain goes wild with the possibilities. When those people don't give me something memorable, I remedy the situation by doing something creative for them to remember. If I can't meet That Person, I'll be That Person. Call it what you will (fate, destiny, a horse), there's never a dull moment in this brain. I know bad stuff happens in life, but I know good stuff happens too, and it's the good stuff, the grace-moments in life that I wait for. They're there. They're everywhere. Some people just don't look for them or notice.

But living this secret life of brilliant hues has a flip-side: when life does turn out to be normal and the threads running across it seem to be weaving an average graham-colored bit of the tapestry, the heart-racing, flush-cheeked, eyes-sparkling existence begins to feel like a pacing tiger in a cage. I'm ready for the adventure. Where is it? I'm keeping a weather eye out for the next interesting person, the next impossibly beautiful moonrise, the next rose-red leaf silvered with frost, the next place to send an anonymous letter, the next way to secretly give a quiet blessing. It's an odd sort of discontentment, waiting for the peacock blues and currant reds and new-wheat greens in the tapestry of life to cover the graham-colors. When they don't come on their own, I make them myself, content in mixing dyes from the bits of everyday magic around me. I'm content with waiting, with letting wild hopes fly through my fingers each day, for there are always more hopes to be spent tomorrow. It's a luxury that optimists like myself can easily spare. But I will admit that our outlook can be exhausting,  for we spend hope at an extravagant rate and if it's a harsh master who would call it wasteful, our output is certainly tiring. I discussed this topic briefly with a friend this evening:

"Did you know it is slightly exhausting being an imaginative optimist? I mean, what's more tiring and frustrating: waiting for nothing to happen or waiting for anything to happen? In the first case you at least are fairly ready to stay where you are all your life. In the latter, you have the most delicious sense of 'any day now.'"

...or "any person now," or "any moment now," or "any page now," or "any conversation now," or "any query now." I don't believe the hope is poorly spent. I would always far rather be the optimist waiting with shining eyes and a laugh caught in her throat because anything could happen, than the pessimist who pulls on his tan trench-coat and trudges to work through snow whose beauty he can't even see because he can think of nothing but what a mess it'll make of the roads. I would always rather be That Person than a thousand Anyone Elses. I would always rather be a half-short, past-plump girl who makes generous messes in the kitchen than the tall, slender model who can't allow herself a slice of sourdough toast. I would always rather be the girl sleepy-eyed and smiling from an overdose of well-marked books than the frowning, tired-eyed girl who gave up reading because her schedule didn't allow it. I'd always rather wake up believing with my whole heart that impossible things can happen than going to bed each night satisfied that nothing did.

So let the tiger pace; it's striped and tawny and beautiful. Let people pass me by; they'll remember I smiled their direction. Let real photographers buy cameras; I just ask a small, friendly moment to capture the fragile beauties with my (now contentedly outdated) iPhone. Let real artists paint masterpieces; I just want my little, dusty watercolors and a brush not losing too many bristles.

Welcome to The Secret Life of Optimists, in Technicolor, 2015.

"You're a busy-body." "So sue me."

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors."

-C. S. Lewis  

When I was little, there was this weird, dry, boring thing called "social studies". I never really knew what they were. It was an optional category on the standardized tests and when we asked Mama why we didn't do them she'd say, "We've got that covered." It wasn't till I grew up that I realized what she meant. See, Mama and Dad raised us to be extroverts. While working with GenJ this fall I was talking to a politico over dinner: "So I take it you've always been this outgoing and...forthright?" he asked with a wry smile.
    I laughed. "Actually I used to be super shy and when I'm around shy people it comes out now and then." (If you're wondering, yeah, he was shy and I started tripping up on my words explaining the situation.)

     Know what dragged me out of my shy funk? People. People are just so darn interesting.

     A quiet, retreating personality might not be able to understand my fascination with people at first thought, but let me ask you a question: have you ever sat by yourself at a coffee-shop and watched someone across the room or out the front window and let your mind wander? That's people-watching. That's social studies. That's finding people too darn interesting to let yourself be a hermit. Mama knew that we were curious kids. She knew that sooner or later, in a world full of color and personalities and back-story and drama, we'd take notice and start watching. She encouraged us to be around people and ask questions and watch life and take part in it. So what if I never took that test or read a social studies book? I read history. I watched people. I used my vibrant little brain and put two and two together and now the East Coast has a voraciously curious young woman on their hands. I can't stop watching people and thinking about people and making up their stories in my head. I have all these weird ideas and because I don't live in NYC or Seattle, I make up for the lack of tangible scenarios by writing books about the scenarios I wish I had time to live.

     I want to write a mystery called Brownstone and explore the relationships of fellow-tenants who ignored each other beforehand, brought into an unlikely, hilarious community by the appearance of a body (or an abandoned baby..don't know which) on their collective doorstep.

     I want to conduct an experiment and write a book called Ten, Noon by choosing one corner of a coffee shop or cafe in a big city and sitting there every day for a year for two hours (from ten to noon) and people-watching and seeing what sort of morphing, yet tight community you'd get. Probably there'd be love and heartbreak and good deeds and deceit and life and death and lots of interesting things happening in that corner, and it'd be a best-seller book when I'd finished and I'd get to sell thousands of copies and buy an old stone house somewhere with the profits. Don't steal my idea. You know it's a good one. (COPYRIGHT 2013 by Rachel Heffington)

     I'm one of the most observant people I know and it's mostly because I grew up in a family that didn't find themselves too busy to walk a little slower, discuss details, and imagine things. I can meet you once and remember your face. I can go home and tell my family exactly what conversations I carried on with whom, what they were wearing, what color their eyes were, and "write" a verbal portrait so my family ends up in laughter, fear, or a swoon. It's not like I'm particularly gifted in that area; I'm not Sherlock Holmes, I'm just...sociable. People are fascinating.

  What I want you to realize is that I'm not advocating humanism. I believe we live in a fallen world. I believe in original sin. I believe that people are inherently flawed and that the only way to heal the breach between ourselves and our Creator is to put ourselves under the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And you know what...? Maybe that's why I find people so interesting. Maybe I'd rather study humans than birds and flowers and plants and saving the ocean because probably I'm not a people-watcher after all..probably I'm a soul-watcher. I am passionately curious about people because every single face on the street belongs to a soul that was specially created to play a particular part in the epic drama that is our history and future. I feel the stories and I want to know them. And more than I want to know them, I want to know that they are going on with me into eternity...and on the right side of the chasm at that. I want to know that these people realize they're part of the drama...and they have a particular choice to make.

     Social studies...evangelism...there's probably a way to combine those two things. I'd like to learn how. How do I overcome the remaining bits of my shyness and turn my curiosity to compassion? How do I reach into the reflective, smooth-running current of anonymous people-watching and help them untangle their souls without ruining any of the beautiful dignity? But maybe that's it again...maybe the beautiful dignity comes from the fact that they are souls that need untangling. Maybe dabbling my fingers in the pretties of the brook will only make it more beautiful, fuller, smoother...Fact is, I love people and the reason I love them is because He loves them. They're pieces of Him, birthed in His laughter and delight, desperately in need of the Rescuer. Image-bearers, all of us. Somehow, there's a way for me to be a liaison between heaven and earth...somewhere there's a gap I will slide into like the final tumbler in a Chinese puzzle-box. This post might not even make sense to a single blessed soul but me...and if that's the case, I won't apologize. Chalk it up to a lesson for you in studying people like me.

Social studies? Hrmph. Such a silly name for such a marvelous thing.

a bit of pixie-dust

There's a certain courage in walking through the grocery store speaking in your fake, BBC-groomed British accent. (Pssst! Everyone else thinks you're American--isn't that funny? ;)

There's a certain courage in wearing polka dots and red lipstick if you like it. Don't worry--everyone else will forget about it in a week. 

There's a certain courage in filling your diaphragm with air and belting out Broadway tunes...even if you don't hit all the notes. Who cares how it comes out? You still sound like Charlotte Church inside. :)

There's a certain courage in saying your true opinion of a subject...regardless of whether everyone else agrees. (You mean you don't think Thor's perfectly drop-dead-gorgeous?!!! What's wrong with you?!? ;)

There's a certain courage in walking about with brown hair. (while knowing you're a red-head at heart. ;)

There's a certain courage in quoting Shakespeare and Dickens and other great authors even when it's hopelessly outdated. (They can't blame you for being clever, you know.)

There's a certain courage in living life the way God meant you to and not worrying about what the world thinks. After all...who's going to be happier in the end?

There's a certain courage in proclaiming yourself a writer. Everyone else expects you to publish a book 3 months later. ;)

There's a certain courage in reminding yourself over and over you're a fabulous young woman worth waiting for. Because you are. The King of kings says. 

There's a certain courage in carrying yourself like a heroine. There's a mistake on your birth certificate. Your name is really Elizabeth Bennet. ;)

It's not disillusionment. It's imagination + truth + a little bit of pixie-dust.