Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back
Endearing movie characters remind us that progress isn’t always linear.
Recently, while on a date, I was asked what kinds of movies I enjoy. A standard question, but after six months off the dating scene, I drew a blank. I mumbled some titles, we bonded over others, and, like most of our conversation, the topic eventually shifted. At least the moment inspired today’s post.
While it’s not a complete list, I tend to gravitate toward films that are thought-provoking or suspenseful—titles like Never Let Me Go, Memento, or Kore-eda’s After Life. Though I appreciate clever storytelling, the flicks I return to most are often cult classics or comforting rom-coms such as Annie Hall, Empire Records, and 10 Things I Hate About You.
I love watching characters who begin uncertain of themselves and slowly learn to trust their instincts as the story unfolds. Bridget Jones (Bridget Jones’s Diary) and Louisa Clark (Me Before You) come to mind: flawed, lovable heroines who grow into their strength in ways that feel both genuine and satisfying. They often say the wrong things at the wrong time, but they’re as endearing as they are rough around the edges. Their journeys are a comforting reminder that we’re all still figuring it out.
While there is male gaze at play, both Bridget and Lou ultimately come into their own, find their voices, and learn they can be liked (loved!) just as they are (thank you, Mark Darcy). Isn’t that what we all want—to be truly seen and loved for who we are?
Admittedly, their stories feel familiar—echoes of my own fumbling attempts to build a life that feels “successful.” My delivery is far from graceful, but undeniably integral. Maybe that’s why I return to these movies at least once a year. Bridget and I even have a tradition: every New Year’s Eve (or January 1st), I rewatch her first film as a personal ritual of fresh starts. Who can resist a tipsy Ms. Jones on the couch, belting out Celine Dion’s “All By Myself” as the opening credits roll?
Unfortunately, while Bridget’s character evolves—grows, stumbles, and eventually thrives—I can’t always say the same for myself. At the very least, my progress hasn’t been linear. The past decade has felt more like “two steps forward, five back, three forward.” No matter the gains, I often end up right back where I started. I vaguely recall accomplishing things I should be proud of, yet the outcome feels largely unchanged: another company to win over, another client to please, another bridge to climb—sometimes quite literally, as a marathon runner. And still, I find myself wondering: what does this all lead to? What am I chasing and why?
At 15, I thought life would start at 18. At 18, I assumed it would begin after graduating university. After grad school, I figured it would be my mid-20s—then 30, maybe 35. Yet here I am at 40, questioning whether life is already half over and still wondering when it will actually begin.
That I share similar doubts with my Gen Z mentees highlights a broader era of disillusionment—an ongoing theme, if not the central one, in Cheers! Thanks, Bye. It’s not something we’ll solve in this post, but knowing my experience isn’t unique makes it all the more worth continuing to explore.
Fatefully, I found myself watching Me Before You again yesterday. It came on after Notting Hill. I didn’t bother to change the channel. If you ever need sassy, light-hearted inspiration to remind you that life—as we know it—is precious, this is a good place to start.
Lou reminds me of myself at 26, pattern mixing, bold colors, and all. (Can we get some applause for my sequin vests, pussy-bow blouses, jewel-toned fedoras, army shorts worn over patterned tights, and aggressive collection of jumpsuits?) She’s raw, anxiously optimistic, and vaguely aware her choices aren’t great, but still young enough not to worry how these decisions—partner, job, city—might shape her future. Operative phrase: “young enough.”
The trouble is, she still reminds me of myself at 40—just with a bolder wardrobe.
Like Bridget, Lou’s story ends with her on the cusp of grasping her full potential. She’s not only been seen and loved, but also given the chance to blossom. If, like me, you’re “middle-ish aged” and thinking Lou’s journey feels familiar: don’t panic. That’s what sequels are for (and Jojo Moyes does not disappoint).
Still, comparison is the thief of joy, and I’m pretty sure my 26-year-old self would be proud of how far I’ve come. When I pull back enough, I can see just how much of the road is already behind me.
The heart of Lou’s story isn’t just about growth; it’s about choice. Will Traynor’s posthumous letter to Lou, in particular, offers a tender reminder to live the life we have—to say “yes” while we can, because one day, we may have to say “no.”
“Knowing you still have possibilities is a luxury. Knowing I might have given them to you, this eased something for me… Just live well. Just live.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me—despite this heat wave—I’m going to seize the moment and squeeze in a run.
Cheers! Thanks, Bye.
-Linz