(Emma and Ryan, together again!)

I don’t watch the annual Academy Awards show.

I start with this in order to help explain why it took me ten years to watch La La Land. A film, in case you’ve forgotten, that was at the center of one of the most embarrassing, ridiculous Oscar ceremony mistakes ever, when it was announced as the Best Picture winner (and given the awards!) before the actual winner, Moonlight, got its due.

As much as I like musicals—love them, really—that kind of soured me out of the gate. Silly, maybe, but sometimes we do silly things.

The subsequent years being filled with things like divorce, cancer, two layoffs, moving twice, heart surgery, and other nightmares, it fell off my radar. And when I thought of it again and learned how it ended…well, I mentioned the divorce, right? I didn’t need any more angst.

A couple weeks ago, for some reason—I probably bumped into a mention of it on social media or something—I decided I had waited long enough and queued it up. It was adorable, wonderful, amazing, and (even after several rewatches) I think Emma Stone’s Oscar was eminently deserved. She does more acting in that film with her eyes alone than many flavor-of-the-month 20-something, block of wood actresses do in their entire careers with their whole beings.

And the ending wrecked me. Absolutely wrecked me.

Being a modern, self-reflective guy who has had a lot of therapy, I dug around in my brain for the reason, if only for my mental health. I was losing sleep, FFS. Obsessing. It wasn’t healthy. I mean, I’m paid hourly; I can’t sit around moping about a musical that came out 10 years ago. I have work to do.

Spoilers be coming, in case you are one of the five people who, like my friend Geoffrey, hasn’t watched this film.

I realized that while I was sad Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone didn’t end up together, that wasn’t the whole story.

One thing that made me vulnerable was a scene earlier in the film. Ryan Gosling, thrilled with the afternoon he just spent with Emma Stone, is so happy he breaks into a song and dance on the Hermosa Beach Pier. And it’s not just that it was a delightful number; it’s that it smacked me in the face with a memory so strong I actually had to pause the film.

See, when I was in college, there was this absolutely beautiful woman who started working in the college dish room during a couple of my shifts. She was pretty, she was wicked smart, she was funny, she had a ridiculously adorable laugh, and she fit right in with the dirty, disgusting team of stoner guys who also worked the shift. (I mean dirty as in “covered with meal debris due to the job” type, not sexually. They were real gentlemen to her, the only woman on the shift.) Of course all the other guys were interested in her, flirted with her, hoped she would go out with them. I totally wrote her off. I was a nerd, a nebbish, and skinny and slightly built to boot. Women like that not only had ignored me in high school, they had actively made fun of me. She was out of my league. Way way way out of my league. I mean, look at me; this was taken that very year:

Not repulsive or anything, but not a person who would expect lovely, smart, funny 19 year-olds to be interested in.

But here’s the thing: She didn’t give a rip about any of that. She thought I was funny and smart and interesting. So one night she asked me back to her room, where we drank Bacardi (with grape juice as a mixer; pro tip: don’t) and made out (until her roommate unexpectedly showed up). As I walked down the steps from her dorm to the bus stop, I felt just like Ryan Gosling. I wanted to dance. I wanted to sing. I had that new relationship energy (NRE) thing going on.

(I also wanted to not have bed spins because of the Bacardi. That wish alas didn’t come true.)

And it made me sad because, at my age, I’m unlikely to ever experience that kind of new relationship energy (NRE) ever again. Which sucks all on its own, and kind of primed the pump for what came later.

The end of the film is after Emma and Ryan have achieved their respective dreams, with Ryan owning a jazz club and Emma being a successful actress with a cute little girl and Tom Everett Scott (That Thing You Do!) as a husband. And he’s clearly a good guy! Emma and Tom, just by accident (it’s a musical; go with it) are walking the streets after dinner and happen upon Ryan’s jazz club. Which Emma didn’t know about. Ryan and Emma see each other and there’s a lovely extended dream sequence reminiscent of Singin’ in the Rain or An American in Paris, where they imagine their life together if things had gone a bit differently, if they had made slightly different choices.

That was a bit tough for me to watch, post-divorce and all, but the kicker was when it changed to them watching a film of themselves on shaky, hand-held, 16mm film, yellowed with age, looking at them moving in together, painting their apartment, Emma pregnant, them celebrating their son’s birthday. That was what killed me.

What I realized, what hit like a ton of bricks, was the realization that I had done the same thing with a woman in my own life (let’s call her Jane), and now the chance to be with her was gone. I could remember the different choices with crystal clarity. The moments I could have made different choices and didn’t. And now, even though she is also single, she isn’t interested. It’s too late. And being a lonely, older guy who’s had zero luck dating since my divorce, well, that realization was a killer.

I don’t know quite why I’m sharing this all except that for one, hardly anyone reads this blog so it doesn’t really expose me. For two, it has always helped me to get this stuff out.

I guess the moral of the story is, media can kick you in the ass even when you think you’re prepared. And further, carpe that ol’ diem, because you don’t know how long you have, and you never know when you’ll get another chance.

And yeah, I still love Jane. And it kinda sucks.