Two Saturdays ago, April and I saw Guy Maddin's My Winnepeg at the Hollywood Theater. This was my first Maddin film, and not to say too much about it (you can watch A. O. Scott's "Movie Minutes" if you'd like), there are certain themes I hear are prevalent in many of his films: an obsession with his mother, sexuality (perhaps his own) and the inability to distinguish these at points. Maddin narrates this film, and while my memory is fuzzy of how he worded it exactly, he said something I've been thinking about ever since. It was about ghosts. Winnipeg's ghosts. His ghosts. And how it's impossible to leave ghosts in one place, or for them not to follow you out.
See, My Winnipeg was Maddin's attempt to exercise these ghosts. To bring them out, acknowledge them square in the face and move on. Leave. Leave them be. Leave Winnipeg.
Being in the throes of transition, it's pretty much impossible not to think about my own ghosts. The funny thing is, Charlottesville had many ghosts for me at one time -- expectations, former loves, death -- but they had all but evaporated by the time I finally made moves to leave. In fact, it was these apparitions that had held me there. And their lessening is what helped me move on.
But here in a new place, void of anything from my past, I recognize the ghosts that have followed me. I also recognize the stirring-up of other stuff that will probably lead to new ghosts, a Casper or two, in my future.
There is of course the one, placeless ghost that I don't imagine will ever leave me. At least, I can't yet imagine a day I won't think about it. (I've been told that day does indeed come, but I'm still a little suspicious.) Forgive me for being vague, but if you know me, you probably know what I'm talking about and, if you don't, it doesn't matter. While it was such an important event in my life, there is absolutely no reason that anyone should know or remember this about me, nor would I want them to define me by it. But sometimes I define me by it. And sometimes I wish that ghost would just piss off already.
Then there's the resurgence of older stuff. College in Charlottesville was chock full of all sorts of hope and expectation put on the shoulders of any budding youngster. Now I have this growing, almost debilitating fear I won't make anything meaningful of my life. This one is not such a friendly ghost. And I must admit that this is made ever more poignant by the currently-going-nowhere job search.
I said to Heather recently it's a weird juxtaposition of being really happy with where I have chosen to live, but absolutely miserable about not having a job. No; not not having a job; not having a purpose. And no clear idea of which way to steer myself exactly. I think this sort of thing -- these feelings, a mid-twenties slump -- is some perverse right of passage, but I'm getting kind of annoyed with all these milestones lately. Mine seem to be all out of order and misplaced.
And strangely it is that contrast which makes the atmosphere just perfect for these phantoms: I have this wonderful backdrop of new scenery, new people (and wonderful people who have been there all along), new food, new friends, and yes, new job(s) -- because I will be employed one of these days -- just begging to be dotted with doubt, shadows and ghosts.
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