Dear Mitch,
I recently watched The Fabelman’s,
a movie I highly recommend. The movie’s ending resonated deeply with me, and even as I write this, I can imagine you grinning at me, thinking, “Here she goes again, turning something into grief!”
Well, side smile, you’re absolutely right—I am.
There’s a scene where the main character,
Sammy, meets his idol, a legendary director named Ford. Ford asks Sammy to look at two pictures in his office and explain what he sees. The task essentially involves describing the location of the horizon in each picture. After Sammy does this, Ford gives him a piece of advice that’s stuck with me: “When the horizon is at the top, it’s interesting. When it’s on the bottom, it’s interesting. When it’s in the middle, it’s boring as shit! Got it?”
It made me think—not just about life in general, but about grief.
If you were looking for a positive perspective, you could describe the depths of grief as “interesting.” I experienced emotions and thoughts I’d never had before—or at least not at that magnitude. It was raw, consuming, and overwhelming, but it was also a place where I learned more about myself than I ever thought possible.
Mature grief, too, is “interesting.”
After enduring the depths of deep grief, life feels richer in a way that’s difficult to describe. Colors seem brighter. Laughter feels like it comes from the soul. The smallest moments—like a hug from Colson or a walk through Forestry Park—feel abundant with meaning.
It’s in these extremes of grief,
both deep and mature, where the most growth happens. I’ve come to realize that the middle ground, while stable, doesn’t always allow for the same level of awareness or gratitude. It’s easy to coast through life without truly appreciating what’s around you—without being fully present.
But grief changed that for me.
It taught me how to see beauty in the chaos and meaning in the quiet. I’ve learned so many valuable lessons on this journey, and I know there are more to come. Wherever the horizon falls in this chapter of my life, I’m ready for it—with open arms, an open heart, and, yes, probably a few tears along the way.
