For the Hell of It

I made a playlist this evening. I used to make all kinds of playlists all the time, and I would burn them to CDs and then drive around and listen to them, singing along.

So, it felt good, even though I hadn’t done it in awhile. Even though I lost track of time. Even though I didn’t get started on all the chores and responsibilities that I should have been doing while I was making it.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you need to do things because you want to do them. If you think about it, everyone just does what someone else tells them they have to do, all day long. They rarely do things that they want to do. For the hell of it.

So, do things for the hell of it, once in awhile. Make a playlist and jam out.

I’ll be right there with you.

Love,

Bailey

The Girl Who Loved Alan Rickman

Back in the day, I used to have a job at Barnes and Noble.

It was my dream job – working with books, and getting to recommend my favorites to others.

At least, it was until they stuck me back in the music and DVDs section.

Back there, I mostly kept to myself. My job was to organize the DVDs and CDs and stock them on Tuesdays. And once in awhile, a customer would come in and ask for a particular DVD and I’d personally escort them to it, to which they would reply: “Oh, it’s cheaper on Amazon.”

A glamorous life, for sure.

But one day, when I was lamenting my lot not being able to be out with the book people, a girl about my age came up to my counter. She had dark hair and red lipstick. And she asked a very simple question.

“Can you look up a specific actor in your database and tell me what movies he’s been in?”

I wasn’t sure the system worked like that but I was willing to give it a try. And sure enough, it did.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked.

And she said, “Alan Rickman.”

Well, I started to rattle off many a name. Too many to count, too many to remember. I started with the most obvious, like Harry Potter and Die Hard, and went to the less obvious like Dogma and Sweeney Todd.

To all of the ones I suggested, she said:

“Yup, seen that one.”

“Yup, own that.”

“Yup, loved that.”

And so, I started to get frustrated with this girl. Why was she asking me when she’d already seen them? As I continued to recite the movies with a modicum of boredom in my voice, I finally reached the end of the fifth page of movies, and said, “there’s no more.”

Thrilled to finally be rid of her, I looked to her and saw a bright smile on her face that stopped me from anything I would have said to her.

“That’s okay,” she said, “I guess I’ve just seen them all.”

And she floated away, like a bubble.

So, why do I still think about this experience? Sadly, Alan Rickman has since died, and I did think about her on that day and wonder if she was devastated, somewhere.

But the real reason I remember her is because I could tell, from our infinitesimal interaction, that she was a passionate person. She would stop at nothing to make sure that she had experienced and lived Alan Rickman’s work. She was willing to reveal her almost obsessive passion to a complete stranger, just so that she could make sure she’d seen it all.

I, too, want that passion. I want to scare people with how passionate I am about something. I want to be the girl who loved Alan Rickman.

I hope I find that passion some day. And I hope you do too. But mostly, I hope you’re not afraid to ask the bored counter girl about it, just in case there’s something you might have missed.