not all who wander are

So, it’s 9 o’clock on a Tuesday… and I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s kind of a stupid lethargy because, really, Lost has not maintained a regular timeslot from each season to the next. And even then… when I’ve been in the throes of theater, I usually watched episodes online (or crazily enough in the early days on a recorded VHS). But this last season, it was my thing to be on the red couch watching the lead in to the final denouement.

I’m not going to render an opinion of the end. I don’t know how I feel at this point. There are a number of things that were odd about the finale – like the fact I wasn’t watching it by myself… and that kind of… changed things. I also, well, I’m a writer… and I may not agree with a choice all the time, but these days I do like to figure out logic… but anyway… like I said, this isn’t a review.

So maybe it is that writer perspective. Or maybe it’s the female, extra sentimental thing… but there is a weird vacuum with the recognition that it’s done. Wait a minute. A TV show? Really? Come on, Jessie. Aren’t you the one always pooh poohing the fact people take stupid shit way too seriously? Yup. Oh yup I do.

There is something fascinating about Lost, outside of the emotional connection of the plot twists, mystery, and cliffhangers of each season. Even its outrageous popularity kind of intrigues me. Because… well, who woulda thunk?

I came to Lost because I liked Alias. Scratch that. I was besotted with Alias and the mind bending twists of JJ Abrams. Hell, he won me over with Felicity. But both those shows took nose dives when he moved onto other projects… and created a whole other world. Worlds that went through the looking glass. Which, if you didn’t notice, is my kind of logic. So… before even seeing an episode, before understanding any remote morsel of its actual premise, I knew I would like Lost. 

And it was my ritual… that first year… I think it was Wednesdays. That’s when I used to drive up to Gloucester every day to give tours. And I remember sitting in the gatehouse trying to explain my visceral delight with this show to my fellow guides… none of whom really got it. Oh well. I stuck with it. Religiously. For two seasons. Then… season three… it got weird. I got distracted by other things and emotions. Then, haphazardly I watched the season finale as I packed up my apartment and fell in love again.

I can’t say what it is exactly. It asked questions. It dared imagination. It pushed the mind to contemplate something more than what was seen on the screen. It tickled my repository of trivia. And, okay, there was some serious eye candy. So… there’s always been some reward for following and keeping up.

It is strange to think about though… the things to which we grow attached for a period of time. Things that stretch over an expanse of years… and when it ends, we realize how much has changed since the initial romance. So much water over the dam… life changes… entrances, exits… ecstasy, agony, hope, despair… and how six years later the world is a different place… but that show – no matter what night corporate programming determines is the best Nielsen’s score opportunity – is a fixed point in time. A constant, even with all its mysterious questions.

Maybe you never liked Lost. I get that. There’s a lot of pop culture that does nothing for me. But this one… something about it latched into my emotion… to my own lost soul searching for answers. I’m not sure if I entirely like the answer they gave us… but since when does life go the way we want? Maybe it’s just an opportunity to shift the focus of the looking glass and say… oh yeah, maybe it is that way, too.