What I discovered in My Last Name is a story that has continued to help me process not just the grief and disillusionment of these last several months, but diagnose some of our current cultural ills, as well.
His life’s work was the common and righteous work of loving those around him until he physically was incapable of serving others.
Through love, we weather the worst of our decisions and become more human.
Why doesn’t the Good Place satisfy? It doesn’t satisfy because it’s an eternity of people getting literally anything they want—anything they can ask for or dream of or do—for the rest of all time.
In locking us into the perspective of one of these characters, 1917 ends up being a story that, through the artistry, reminds us that one life has value in the midst of millions.
Oliver’s poetry reminds us that astonishment is a bridge between us and the beauty of creation.
The Discovery from Netflix explores what could happen if the afterlife offers humans a fresh start on this life.
Beth’s witness shows that “real” community, with vulnerability and obligations and joy and weeping and love, can exist wherever people are willing to use words to bear with one another over time.
We’re both bombarded with the idea that life will be perfect if we just find the right beautiful person. And if we can’t, then at least we should have some fun in the meantime.
While mid-life crises are notorious in our contemporary age for dramatic grasps at youth, Poehler shows us a more productive conclusion, albeit one still lacking.
“Peyton’s greatness lured me into falsely believing that he would play forever.”
