Every Day Is a Grain of Sand

“Perhaps the moments we encounter most often make the most beautiful subjects. The things so familiar that we simply pass them by, the things that have occupied a corner of our hearts without our knowing it—perhaps these are the very things that evoke the deepest emotions and memories.”

These are my own words, words I cherish because they embody my philosophy of life. To be frank, my predominant thought while watching Paterson was that it was all too obvious. Not because the film was boring or unremarkable, but because it told a story that seemed almost self-evident. It was the story of a man who knew how to appreciate the things we so easily take for granted.

Everyday life becomes poetry when we lend an ear to the stories passing us by. This is because life is composed of tiny particles. Time accumulates like grains of sand, gradually gathering into something greater. Each grain carries a meaning of its own, and as these grains accumulate, our lives become fuller. Most people focus only on the mound that has formed, but we must not overlook the smallest units from which it is made. Even the most insignificant thing holds some meaning.

In this sense, Paterson's attitude toward life is both refreshing and utterly natural. To discover fresh meaning in things already woven into the fabric of everyday life is the art of someone who truly cherishes the ordinary. Paterson's week scarcely changes. He drives his bus, listens to his passengers' conversations, and takes his dog Marvin for a walk at night. Occasionally, a commotion breaks out at the bar, or his dog tears apart his notebook of poems. His life is not so different from anyone else's, and it is just as meaningful. Yet if there is something that sets his life apart, it is perhaps his ability to notice the little things. For him, a box of matches or a glass of water can become the finest source of poetic inspiration.

We have plenty of matches in our house.

We keep them on hand.

Currently our favorite brand is Ohio Blue Tip,

though we used to prefer Diamond Brand

until we discovered Ohio Blue Tip matches.

It is an exceedingly dry and straightforward opening, one that allows no embellishment whatsoever. Paterson's poem Love Poem demonstrates that poetry need not be extravagant. The more a poem strips away, the deeper it becomes. Only when rhetorical flourishes are removed and the subject is depicted as it is can the poet's sensibility truly emerge. Thus, the materials of poetry need not be grand, either. A single match will do, or a glass of beer enjoyed every evening. A story about his wife's dreams will do just as well. In truth, anything that fills our lives can become poetry. No matter how small, no matter how much it resembles an insignificant grain of sand, each thing is worthy material because it contributes to the making of a life. It is easy to overlook a match or burn it away in an instant, but transforming it into poetry is an entirely different matter. To perceive one's love for another person within a match and press that feeling into language is an exceedingly slow and deliberate act. Poetry may appear effortless, but countless moments of inspiration and contemplation lie within it.

And so, I hope that each of us will someday encounter a Japanese stranger who exclaims, “Aha!” Near the end of the film, a Japanese man approaches Paterson, who has fallen into despair after his dog destroyed his notebook of poems. The stranger unexpectedly begins talking about poetry, and Paterson enjoys their conversation. As they part, the man gives him a blank notebook. “Sometimes an empty page presents the most possibilities,” he says. Ultimately, the poem that is life is not a completed notebook. It is the very act of filling its empty pages. Tomorrow, Paterson will take the wheel again, listen in on passing conversations, and return to his study to build another sandcastle. That sandcastle may collapse time and again, but it does not matter. He knows that the act of writing poetry itself sustains his everyday life. Each day is a grain of sand, seemingly insignificant on its own, yet together those grains eventually form the magnificent castle that is a life.

And so, I too hope to rediscover the philosophy of life I once lost. I want to gather the stories I have passed by under the excuses of being too busy or too tired, and press them into words. I need not write poetry. It is enough simply to live my everyday life. And so I take out an empty notebook. It is time to build a sandcastle.