Last weekend, the F and I went to see The Prince of Persia. Half way through the film, he taps me on the shoulder.
“The exit sign is blinking off and on.” He insistently points to the left. His eyes darting between me and the exit sign.
I tilt my head. Sure enough, the sign is doing an off-again, on-again flicker dance.
A normal person would wonder why the hell someone chooses to worry about an exit sign light.
I, however, know that the F is an optical engineer. He designs light bulbs and loathes getting a ComEd bill over $45. He worries about light and energy like BP should be worrying about oil floating about in the Gulf of Mexico.
I don’t care. I tell him to shut up and enjoy the movie. At least, appreciate Jake Gyllenhaal’s stunted acrobatics.
He stares at the sign for a few more moments. The sign continues to flicker. He reluctantly turns his attention back to the movie.
I wonder: how often do we indulge our own passions? In other words, when are we so consumed with the things we love, we find a way to engage it anywhere?
When was the last time you indulged the things you love?