I don’t think there has been a movie since Schindler’s List that has made me appreciate life as much as Slumdog Millionaire. In retrospect, I wonder what that says about me. That I need a celluloid representation of a meaningful life to better appreciate my relatively less-meaningful one.
Then again, maybe every $12 experience I have is not an opportunity for introspection. Of course, if that were true, I’m going to be freaked-out in the morning by the stranger in the mirror.
One thing is for sure: I want to live a considered life full of regrets. Yeah, you read that right. At least with regrets, that means I gave it a hell of a go.