Something that I’ve done unintentionally and would love to do more intentionally: read the same book (or watch the same film, or listen to the same album) once every year or so, and see how the work has changed.
Of course, it won’t have changed at all, but you might perceive it differently, and in the end that might feel like roughly the same thing.
I’ve fallen into the trap many times of sticking with an opinion that I might have formed long ago and never questioned again.
“I don’t like it.”
“It wasn’t to my taste.”
“It’s one of the best; worst, etc.”
Unless you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, though, your taste is not static. Your interests are not fixed. You’ve had new experiences that evolved and shaped the person that you are now.
From time to time, I find myself wanting some sort of yardstick for my taste (or aspects of it). I wonder if a book that I liked, hated or felt indifferent about 10 years ago would feel the same to me now. I wonder if my life experiences would make something resonate more (or less).
One of my favorite movies is Good Will Hunting (for reasons that I can’t entirely explain), and one of my favorite scenes includes the speech from Robin Williams whilst sitting on the bench with Will.
I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you.
I’ve watched that scene tens of times, and each time it’s different. Each time I’m different. I watched that scene before I met my wife, and I watched it afterwards. I watched it when Robin Williams was alive, and I watched it after he passed. When I was immature and… less immature.
The scene didn’t change, but with every rewatching I felt something different. I lingered a little longer. It’s just one example of many, but one of my favorites. It’s one that I’ll rewatch again, and again.
It’s hard to notice yourself changing day-to-day, but revisiting something familiar can hold up a mirror. It shows you the ways you’ve grown, shifted, or softened in unexpected ways.
There’s something wonderful—and rare—about discovering new parts of yourself through familiar work. The next time you return to a book, film, or album, pay attention: what’s different now?