Mr. Holland's Opus

In 1995 I saw a film with one of my least favourite actors, Richard Dreyfus.  Even though I still cringe when that particular actor comes on the screen I try and catch the re-run of this one movie, 'Mr. Holland's Opus' whenever I see it advertised.  It was a film that stuck with me for a long time and still has the power to make me cry.

The film is about a musician who is desperately trying to write his one fantastic life work.  He works at it and it seems just out of reach.  He then marries and very quickly has a child so he gives up his dream of writing music and takes a job as a schoolteacher. the film then goes through his life outlining the events that conspire to prevent him from living his dream of writing his 'opus'.  At the end of the film he finally realises that his 'opus' is not the illusive piece of music he never completed, but the lives he touched through his teaching and through the rest of his life.

The premise of this film touched me very deeply. I feel like I have lived most of my life by accident.  I never had a vision of a masterpiece waiting to be painted, or a book waiting to be written and I wonder, as I get into the later years of my life, what do I leave behind.  Whose lives have I touched, what have I genuinely created?

After over sixty years of life I really do sit back on some days and think that I have achieved nothing and there are other days, and maybe those are the days in which the sun shines, when I believe that I have touched many lives in many small ways.  The trouble for me is that I would have liked to be a Mozart, a Rembrandt, a Gandhi or at a pinch, the Dalai Lama!  Instead I am me, low-key and unsure.  I wonder if Rembrandt felt like this during his lifetime?

I never dismiss the fact that I have given birth to and raised wonderful children.  They are reasonably well-adjusted human beings and they both bring a depth of understanding and empathy into the lives of those around them.  In some small way this is down to me (and their dad) and the parenting I have done.  It's also down to dumb luck and does make me believe the words of one of my teachers who always assured me that if you come from a loving space inside yourself, ytou can't get it too far wrong.  Certainly I had no idea what I was doing when I had my children.  I never read books on being a mum, nor did I consult experts.  I just sort of muddled through with my own life and some of it rubbed off.

I would have liked to produce a masterpiece though I reckon I am a bit too lazy to ever do that.  I could never have built cathedrals or become a Michelin-starred chef - too much sustained hard work involved.  As I get older I become even more lazy.  I would like instant results and instant recognition.

No, wait, that's not true.  I am actually petrified of real recognition. I want to do what I do and in small ways I want people to know about it.  I want to be acknowledged as an expert in diversity management in organisations, I want to be feted as a good host and great cook and mostly I want to be known as a good person, but quietly.  I just don't want to crow about it.  That feels a bit dangerous.  Tall poppy syndrome, I guess.

When I reach the end of my life, what is it that I am going to wish I had done?  What is it that I have done?  I think I'd better start acknowledging myself now, because the fact that I don't may turn out to be my biggest regret.  I know, deeply know, that I have touched many lives and crept into many hearts.  I'm just not sure how and maybe I need to start looking inside me now so when I get to the point where I no longer remember my own name, maybe I can remember how it feels to be me. Maybe this will be my 'opus'.

Does this make any sense????