I find that the older I get, the less content I feel in persistent aloneness. And this is the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever said, in the most vulnerable way I can say it. That I enjoy my company as much as anyone’s. I revel in the peace of quiet resting and rising. That I most appreciate the freedom to come and go and do as I please. But sometimes, more often than ever before, I dream of disruption.
Today I watched Introducing Selma Blair, a documentary chronicling part of the actress’ journey with Multiple Sclerosis. After hearing from her at the Portland Book Festival and in the midst of reading her book, Mean Baby, I wanted to learn more about this force of a human who came out on stage at the festival and cracked jokes while speaking of both internal and external challenges without shame.
“Jesus,” escaped the mouths of several festivalgoers near me as Selma detailed events that rendered us incapable of uttering much more. We were devastated, and yet uplifted. Because she was enchanting. With a cane and support animal, she seemed fiercer than ever.
The documentary is equally devastating and soul-stirring, as one might imagine. For all its candor, there is one segment that especially moved me. It comes toward the end. Selma says,
“I’ll consider my life a success if I can die…
