Osler's Razor

 

Yesterday, I saw the movie Boyhood, and it was great.  It tracks a family over 12 years, and was filmed over the course of those 12 years-- the photos above are of the main character during this time period.  

There were three things that lingered with me afterwards:

1)  It made me miss Texas (it takes place all over the state).  Oddly, though, it didn't make me miss central Texas, where I spent 10 years and where most of the action in the movie takes place.  Rather, it made me miss West Texas, especially the area around Alpine and Marfa, where I once had an epic roadtrip with IPLawGuy.  I'm not sure why that is, though it may be because of the strange beauty of it, and the solitude.

2)  I loved a short passage in the film that dealt with faith.  The kid is given a Bible, and the family goes to a church out in the country.  The minister gives a short sermon, about Thomas' doubts, and it isn't a bad sermon.  It was one of those things you had to think through later-- the sermon's point was that you had to believe without proofs, and the kid seems to be thinking about that.  But... he never goes back.  There is something deep there, about religion in our time.  Simply insisting that people believe because they should isn't working very well.  The richness of the message is too often lost.

3)  There is a line in the movie, spoken by the mother, that I often hear.  She has made some choices that made things hard for her kids, and she looks at her son and says "I did the best I could."  I've never been comfortable with that answer; it rings false.  I know that there has not been one relationship in my life where I "did the best I could." because in each I could have been better.  I have always been imperfect-- not just in an absolute sense, but in comparing my choices to what was possible for me at the time.  I have never done the best I could.  I learn, I hope, but I have never once met that standard-- not at work, not in relationships, not in anything.  I reach for the holes, and believe them when I feel them.  They are always there.