you are what you love

discoveries from the front-row

Every other person I meet nowadays has a favorite indie theater in New York City. This is probably a form of selection bias; I end up meeting people who are creatively inclined, excited to expand their understanding of the world through media. But across multiple events and entirely different groups of people, the topic of film continues to come up: how they saw some film or another at each of these theaters, which ones they had memberships to. It’s no wonder, then, that I felt inclined to go to one of these theaters — to uncover their value and watch a storied, acclaimed film that contributes to the extended canon. A work worthy enough to return to theaters years after its initial release, sticky enough to survive while so many other works fade. So, I watched a Nicolas Cage movie.

My friend and I were slightly late to the theater to see Adaptation (2002), leaving us with the worst seats in the house: the absolute front row. We prepared ourselves for the incoming neck pain from the awkward angle we’d be watching the film from. But once the film began, it was somehow easy to forget about the weird angle, except for certain moments where every character looked grotesquely disproportionate.

The film was deeply strange in a wonderful way, featuring a screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (played by Nic Cage) struggling with writer’s block as he attempts to adapt a book into a movie. As a result, much of the film reflects Charlie’s circular, neurotic, and repetitive internal monologue.

Throughout, the troubling question of “Is Nic Cage a good actor?” bounced around my head. It wasn’t until late in the film that the answer became an unequivocal “yes.” In this scene, Charlie Kaufman and his brother Donald (also played by Nic Cage) are talking about an incident in high school when Donald was humiliated by his crush, Sarah:

Donald: I loved Sarah, Charles. It was mine, that love. I owned it. Even Sarah didn't have the right to take it away. I can love whoever I want.

Charlie: But she thought you were pathetic.

Donald: That was her business, not mine. You are what you love, not what loves you. That's what I decided a long time ago.

As I heard Nic Cage deliver these words with quiet conviction, it felt like a shock of electricity. I instantly knew I would be thinking about this scene forever. In the film, Charlie is often paralyzed in life, too afraid to take the actions he knows he wants to, too afraid of what the consequences could be, too afraid that he won’t be loved back by the world. In real life, I think everyone has moments of fear like this, ones where they shy away from fully expressing their love.

Without realizing it, my own thoughts started to vaguely resemble Charlie’s spiraling internal monologue. You are what you love, not what loves you, echoed in my mind as I became lost in thought.

How will you be remembered? Doesn’t every eulogy in the movies mention what and who the person loved most? Imagine your favorite person doing something they enjoy, eating something they adore, hugging someone they love — isn’t it a joyous thing? Don’t you feel something just by remembering how another loves? I think of my mother and my grandmother eating ice cream, how they relish the dessert with such intensity that their satisfaction feels infectious. They are what they love.

And think of this: the way that everything your friends and family love gains a vague fondness in your heart. I watched so much wrestling with my old roommate because his sheer enthusiasm sparked my interest enough to sit down with him and watch. I loved him, so I could love an aspect of him: how he cared for wrestling.

When we love someone, the world grows more lovable. You start to share their warm gaze for things that you never considered before, never even noticed. How many of my favorite places were introduced to me by someone with excitement? How many of my favorite hobbies were ignited by an enthusiastic friend?

And what are my loves that people see in me? Do I love clearly and intensely enough to make it obvious who I really am? When I walk through the world, does the impact of this loving drip off of me? I’m not talking about announcing what you love to the world, I mean, do the countless hours of writing out of love for words line my fingertips and the edges of my vocal cords? I mean, can you see the mannerisms that I’ve inherited through loving the others? I hope so.

Before I knew it, the film was over, and I was chatting away with my friend. We talked about the movie and then just life in general. The conversation was easy and flowing, and in each phrase, I could see a dim light of love. Every story mentioned someone meaningful to us, every joke reflecting some love of knowledge to inform it. In the afterglow of the film, of that scene, I was seeing everything as love.

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💧 Drops of the Week 💧

• PLAYLIST - feb 25 - lots of pop!

• POEM - “Fear” by Lydia Davis - But we understand, because there is hardly one of us who has not been moved at some time to do just what she has done