I’d watched that film perhaps just as Gatsby watched that green light. And we both waited. We waited for our past to return to us and become yet again the present and never to end in our future. This never-fading green beam, beckoning us backwards with this odd hope things would become what they already were. Living for something that is never going to be more than once, and yet dying with every baited bated breath; we wait. And life could be calling us from the bright dawn of a new day, and we wait for that past to come rising up to shore. Gatsby, filled with hope for lost love to be found once more died in the throes of his past. How much do I respond to my past just the same?

What a beautiful portrait of how desperately we cling to that which is finished. That which is lost, that which holds our heart more dear than we could even imagine. Find your present friends. Live life to its very fullest now. Do not waste it living for the past, hoping for what was to be once again. Too much is awaiting your arrival.

Forty-Eight Hours and I’ll board that plane. And forty-eight hours prior I’m giving up the past for the dawn of something greater.

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald