Abe: It might mean that, in order to “become who you were born to be”, you must stop watching (obsessing about) movies!
Edited passage from Seen & Not Seen: Confessions of a Movie Autist
As an adolescent I looked for ways to deal with my rage, and with an experience of being disconnected from the world which probably had to do with being disconnected from my own deeper feelings. I was forced to assemble some kind of an identity to function in a reasonably healthy, productive way in the social realm I found myself in, a realm I hardly understood (even if I was never as clueless as Travis). Movies became a primary means for this process, as much as or more than parental influence—even as a tonic for it. Movies helped provide instruction and guidance through the hostile and foreign jungle of “otherness” I had landed in. They offered a fictional counterpart to my experience, and a buffer of fantasy between myself and an incomprehensible, hence intolerable, reality.
They may have saved my life, but they also meant I didn’t have to ever really live.
This isn’t necessarily all bad. In my own case at least (far from unique), parental influence ranged from spotty to traumatic. A little cultural leavening may have provided a much-needed respite (and/or outlet). It may even have saved my life, or at least sanity.
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