I just watched the documentary Imagine: John Lennon. People kept saying today, “it’s hard to believe it was 29 years ago…” Well, for most people I know, it’s not hard to imagine. It was the majority of my life. John Lennon died when I was a year and a half old. Despite this, I feel like he has always been a part of my life. Not personally. The music, the intention, the stories. Life.
Throughout this film I saw (and it was very good, hardly any narrative, lots of stock video, home video, interviews, concert footage…extremely impressive), John was the joker, the wisecracking nut, and very straightforward. His point was quite clear: he was living his life for himself. Not for fans. He knew he had influence. But his life, his actions, deeds, writing, singing, was his own. An interesting scene – a drifter, who knows if he was homeless, psychotic, something, stalks Lennon’s estate – must have been the mid-seventies. This man believed John was singing to him. That there was some cosmic importantance. That meeting him would effect something. John said flat out, when he sings, how could he possibly sing to this man he didn’t know – he barely thought at all – maybe about a good shit he passed that morning, or about Yoko if it’s a love song. Nothing more. Nothing more.
It just triggered the thought in me – a thought I’ve had a few times before – we’re all real people. Simple people. Small people. Often frightened people. Whether the president of a big country, a talented musician, a successful businessman, or a working class stiff, a waitress, a student, a bum. Every moment is only our own. What we make of it. And most spend it in distraction – the radio in the car, the sitcom after dinner, the movies, even the novel before bed. Things to take us away from the moment. Sometimes these things are good. Institutions, for instance. If we were to recognize how small and scared and vulnerable each politician was, how governments, banks, transportation systems, are collections of mere mortals like ourselves, it would scare the hell out of us. Bureaucracies. Red tape. Paper work. Receptionists. Stumbling blocks. Locked doors. Detours. Distractions. Because it’s all such a house of cards. Children we all are really. And we’re trying to ignore this fact.
No life ever lived is more or less important that John Lennon’s. I want to believe that. But no. His was. What he made of it was. But he was living just like the rest of us. Breakfast lunch dinner. Sex arguments frustration. Love lawns boats fish. Some of us just distract ourselves by looking at others.
