Opinion | Where’s my coming-of-age indie film?

Movies like “Howl’s Moving Castle” reinforce a desire within viewers to manifest their own “main character moment.” Photo collage by DANIEL PEARSON, Photo Editor

Everyone wants a main character moment. 

Sometimes it’s brief: the light is just right, your soul can almost feel the music swell and everything is perfect. You feel like you own the world and then some. Every person around you is just a pair of eyes to witness your journey.

Mine happened last year in Sedona. It was the end of June, the height of wildfire season, and the trails were closed, but that didn’t stop me from flying 80 mph down Arizona State Route 89A with my two best friends.

The weather was hot and dry — the kind of day that’s only bearable with all the windows down. I could almost feel the brilliant red rock around me baking beneath the desert sun. At that moment, I would rather have spent the rest of my days traveling the Southwest in a beat-up station wagon than ever return home.

Megan J. Miller, Opinions Editor

If I wasn’t driving, I probably would’ve stretched up my arms through the sunroof to have my own coming-of-age film moment like that tunnel scene in “The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”

There was a phrase my friends and I repeated several times during that trip: “We’re romanticizing our lives.”

We had the pictures to prove it — aesthetic snaps of a trip to the coffee shop for our second latte of the day, cute candids from Flagstaff and dreamy shots of that drive through Sedona.

I thought it was good for my mental health. Look at the beauty I find in the everyday, my Instagram seemed to say. Throughout the summer, too, we would take pictures of our daily adventures and our “romanticized” lives. Trendy 2014 Tumblr had nothing on us.

I can’t help but ache recalling that day in Sedona. The feeling, though evocative in the moment, wasn’t meant to last. Summer waned, and autumn brought with it a sense of reflection, as it tends to do. When the golden leaves fall away, we’re forced to reckon with what remains.

I realized I wasn’t romanticizing my life as it was, or capturing natural moments. I was training myself to only love my life in pictures.

I was documenting each adventure not just for the memories, but to add to my collection of photos on Instagram. I became obsessed with how I was perceived, desperate to prove how aesthetically pleasing my life was, like I was That Girl incarnate.

Compulsively retaking photos because I didn’t capture the best angles the first time, staging my morning coffee so it sang better in the a.m. light, buying countless clothes for the sake of a two-second photo — all to later be able to scroll through my feed and make myself believe my life was meaningful. As if meaning can be adequately judged by aestheticism.

The romanticization of my life quickly turned into escapism, rather than an innocent appreciation of the ordinary that I intended it to be. It was a transposition of reality prettily laid out across my Instagram feed, like a curated museum exhibit on display.

I had no influencer to blame. No fad. No trend. Just myself.

No, I didn’t go on a social media cleanse. I’m not shaming those who have stepped away from Instagram for their mental health, but I’m also not here to say social media is the big, bad enemy of the 21st century we must defeat.

Instead, I think we must exercise self-awareness and balance.

For some, the romanticization of the mundane gives them something to appreciate about life. It’s why many people adore Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli films. To this day, “Howl’s Moving Castle” is one of my favorite films for its enchanting mixture of whimsical and grounded elements. Prancing above a bustling little town with a beautiful wizard is depicted with the same magical intrigue as stopping by a crystal lake to string up dry laundry.

That’s the kind of romanticization I seek. I love poetry about ordinary life. Sometimes I just want to stop to watch my cat curling up for a midday nap with a gentle purr. I’ll write a page just on the feeling of playing the piano, a little wine-drunk, during an evening rain. 

I don’t think it’s inherently bad to chase that main character feeling. What is life, if not a grand endeavor to feel something? 

But we must remember that even films are a collection of scenes, not a continuous reel. Diving headfirst into my coming-of-age plot did nothing for me but make me realize with startling pain that, no, my life is not a sensational indie film.

And that’s okay.

I still post on my Instagram, of course; just more mindfully these days. Cherishing the memories but not letting myself be dissatisfied if they don’t “look” perfect. Celebrating the excitement but not expecting it all the time. Living my life without wishing it looked like it was shot in 35mm film.

As for Sedona, I try to remember it — not just for the photos, but for the feeling.