I feel like every white man I know over 35 who travels the least bit for work compares himself to George Clooney in Up in the Air.
I’m not kidding. If you know what it’s like to drink in an airport bar and feel lonely, even if you’ve done it once in your life, you compare yourself to the Clooney character. Then you tell me about it. You talk about your frequent flier miles. Your suits. Your packing methodologies. You even tell me about falling in love and getting your heart busted by a tough broad who acts like a male executive.
I like movies because they help us to find meaning in our lives. Watching others muddle their way through problems helps us to solve our own problems. We can all relate to loneliness, sadness, and emptiness. Our jobs suck. We’re never home enough, and when we are, we don’t do anything meaningful.
But you’re not George Clooney and neither am I. We don’t have that many frequent flier miles. Our wardrobe isn’t as good. We don’t have priority clearance at the American Airlines counter.
You can dream and relate to characters in a movie, but please don’t have a drink and tell me how that movie spoke to you. I might punch you in the face.