Every time I watch Apollo 13, I bawl my eyes out during the launch scene. The expressions on the actors’ faces — the striking difference between the astronauts’ focus and the crowd’s emotion, the camera work and the music, the latter of which is most important to me, all bring me to tears.
My mom would tell you that when I was little, I would cry at the end of Sesame Street because the chimes made such a beautiful sound; she or my brother would have to run in to turn off the TV or change the channel before they began to play.

The way I figure it, I’d get by just fine in life without my sight — so long as I had my hearing to allow me to make and enjoy beautiful music. Loss of vision would be bittersweet, as it tends to amplify everything audible…but at least I could survive off of my memories and my imagination.

The Apollo 13 launch scene makes me want to write something equally powerful. It wouldn’t need to necessarily be a screenplay, but it would need to open those same floodgates of emotion that the movie opens. Easier said than done, as I tend to be able to write raunchy comedies or depressing tales more swiftly than the uplifting, depite the fact that my heart is firmly determined to deliver the latter. I don’t see much worth in putting out the expected into the world, though — I’d rather pen something poetic, moving and inspirational. But each time I try, I hit a snag. I don’t know why.

Perhaps I need to watch Apollo 13 on a Friday night with wine in hand, then spend the rest of the weekend seeing what comes out on paper. It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.

Regardless of whether I can eventually deliver on the inspiration, tonight I am thankful for my vision and hearing which are both intact and which work in tandem to motivate me to keep trying. I am thankful for the beauty of cinematography, the magic of production and the soundtracks and film scores which drive it all home. Here’s to creating.