See you on the other side

If you have kids, or were one around the time it came out in the spring of 2009, then you know what’s so special about the Pixar movie Up.

Yes, I’m talking of course about the achingly brilliant opening sequence that features some of the most moving scenes I’ve ever seen in any movie, animated or not. But there’s so much more to the film that if you haven’t seen it in a long time, put your phone or laptop down right now and go watch it. I’ll wait.

Okay… so we’re back? Good.

Now you remember, right? The scene that occurs after Ed Asner’s Carl Fredricksen, the 78-year-old retired balloon salesman, has lifted off into the sky — in his house — thanks to the help of what must be thousands of helium-filled balloons. And, by the way, along for the ride is 13-year-old Russell, a “Wilderness Explorer” who hopes to get the chance to help Carl and earn his final scout badge, for assisting the elderly.

Carl didn’t know that at first, because he’s been in blissful solitude, thinking he was alone in his home, floating through the air, on his way finally to see the remote South American mountains he and his deceased wife Ellie had always dreamed of visiting.

But when Carl accidentally discovers a terrified Russell clinging to the banister of his front porch, he realizes he’ll have to alter his plans to get the (very!) eager Explorer back to his home. And then, you’ll remember from the movie, their plans get scrambled again when they find themselves hurled into the center of a huge bank of thunder clouds.

After that, of course, where do Carl and Russell find themselves? In an entirely new world, with new species of animals they’ve never seen before — not to mention a talking dog!

The storm has taken them off the path they were on and dropped them onto a new one, with no clear direction on which way to go. It’s a story device that works brilliantly — and, Up isn’t the only Pixar movie to make use of it; if you haven’t seen it, 2015’s The Good Dinosaur uses it too, putting its main character Arlo through a perilous flash flood, only to have him wash ashore far from home, where his story can actually begin.

I share this with you in part because I’m reminded, when I look at my phone’s weather app, that a real storm is headed our way here in the southeastern U.S., a monster of a hurricane named Helene. Now, where I am, we won’t experience the kind of impact that’s likely to hit big swaths of Florida’s Gulf coast tonight; I’m thinking of everyone in the path of that storm as I type these words.

But, where I am, we’re expected to feel some still-significant effects, with lots (and lots, and lots) of heavy rain and maybe even tropical storm-force winds. We’ll just have to wait and see.

What we can be sure of, even now, is that we’ll see change — from the sweltering temperatures we’ve been experiencing these past few weeks, and hopefully, once we’re on the other side of this storm, fall will actually be here.

Some of the people I’m closest to in my life have been going through storms of their own this year; some lost jobs, others have had parents pass away, and some have seen friends die way too young.

An old college friend of mine had to put his 14-year-old dog to sleep last weekend; I’d actually just seen him and “the Weezer,” as he called her, the night before it became clear it was time. We talked about how we know things like this are part of the normal rhythm of life; how you know, in your mind, this day comes for every pet.

But when the pet — or the person — you’ve been living with for more than a decade suddenly isn’t there anymore, it’s really hard to accept. That they aren’t about to walk around the corner from the other room, like they’ve done a thousand times, and curl up at your feet. That they’re not coming back.

I know these aspects of life are unavoidable. Yet I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to hoping for deliverance from them — and to escape to the kind of transcendent place described in the iconic U2 anthem “Where the Streets Have No Name,” even if only for a little while.

So, we press onward. We move forward. The storm comes, but we buckle down and get through it. And, hopefully, come through the other side changed, more open to whatever new possibility is in front of us.

(I share all this with you too because we may lose power for a few days, which would mean I might not be able to get our Friday discussion thread out to you — so, you’ll know why if I’m not in your inbox then!)

Stay safe, everyone, and as always, keep in touch and let me know how your running/life is going.

Your friend,

— Terrell