Breakfast at Tiffany’s is not my favorite Audrey Hepburn movie.
There’s a whole list of reasons why not:
- the book off of which the movie is based is written with a clear contempt of women (thank you, Truman Capote)(one of my least favorite authors)(I have emotions about the whole thing).
- George Peppard will always be Hannibal Smith from A-Team, so I have the hardest time taking him seriously in this role
- Audrey Hepburn’s presence completely redeems the character of Holly Golightly (Marilyn Monroe was a lot of people’s, including Capote’s, pick for Holly…imagine how differently the film would’ve played out then. Also, knowing that she fit the author’s ideal of the role really shows his hand, doesn’t it), and while she does an amazing job, I think characters should be strong enough on their own, and shouldn’t need the supportive power of an actress to be empathetic.
- Most people don’t see past the diamonds and cigarette holders to a truly depressing story of New York and self-made women.
- Audrey had a million and ten other roles where she shone brilliantly and as characters that became her, and this is her most recognized, and that makes me sad.
- Let me again express my dislike of Truman Capote.
But I do love the song.
I know, a circle staircase in McKinney is hardly a fire escape in New York City, but sentimental moods always find me humming ‘Moon River’ to myself.
Moon river, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker: wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.
Two drifters, off to see the world, there’s such a lot of world to see.
We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waiting ’round the bend, my huckleberry friend: moon river and me.
As far as poetry goes, it doesn’t get much better than that.
This past week, a lot of friends and a lot of y’all graduated from high school and college. And with that excitement comes a lot of uncertainty. I think oftentimes we actually do know the future—we know where we want to be in 3, 5, 10 years. What we don’t know if our path between here and there, the hesitant footsteps we must take now, so that we’ll end up there. We know what’s on the other side of Moon River, but haven’t the faintest idea of how to cross.
I wish I could say that changes.
I wish that nine months after my own graduation, I had it figured out. That I haven’t felt those twinges of uncertainty since I left Waco, and that I’ve been steadily paddling towards my rainbow…but I don’t, I have, and I’m not.
I have my nights where I dream of different cities and different days; I have Sunday afternoons when I miss the comfort of Baylor, and having a dozen people by whom I felt known and loved, within 5 minutes of me. I have days when I wish I didn’t work two jobs, and when my apartment—though darling and super cute—feels hollow. I wish for more.
There’s something to be said for contentment, for being okay with being just okay, and for not wishing away the present. You are where you are by divine appointment; don’t ever for a moment think that you’ve wandered so far that God’s said ‘yeah…I’m going to let her find her own way back; this is a mess and someone over here has it figured out so…’
But there’s also something to be said for wanting more.
Far be it from me, to say that the hopes and dreams on your heart are God’s plan for you. But they’re there, there’s no denying that, and as important as contentment is, refusing to settle is more so.
Moon River is waiting to be crossed.
Sign up for a salsa class, write a letter to your best friend from high school, apply for 60 jobs in one sitting, all over the country, just because you can. Visit your friend in New York, or in Seattle, or San Diego. Start the Etsy business, buy a domain for your blog, take the leap of faith that a year from now you’ll be grateful for. You can’t cross this river—this uncertain bridge from now into the gilded future—in a day. You can’t. But you can get a bit of the way. And tomorrow you’ll do a little more. And then a little more. Suddenly the life you’ve curated seems a lot more like reality than just wishful thinking on Pinterest, and you look up to realize you’re making progress.
You can do it, huckleberry friends.