There Just Aren’t Enough Rocks

From time to time you’ll see a movie related post in here.

It’s not that I’m so much of a movie aficionado…we do have one theater (or, cine) here in Perez Zeledon. They will only show the scheduled movie if at least four people show up for it. During weekdays you could end up paying for one or more “ghost companions.”

The joys of living in small-town, Costa Rica!

But occasionally a movie will really get hold of me. That happened years ago with this unique little film called Forrest Gump.

There was one scene in particular that always provoked a lot of emotion, but for a long time I kinda didn’t fully understand why.

So one day, also years ago, I put some thought into it.

Here’s what I came up with…

Was flipping through channels yesterday and there on number 347, or something, was Forrest Gump, one of my favorite movies of all time. I have probably seen it a dozen times, but each time there are certain scenes that really get to me.

I guess I identify with Forrest in ways, feeling like a sort of “detached observer” at times, but nevertheless finding myself unwittingly in the middle of awkward and difficult situations.

Gump handled those with an amazing degree of dexterity despite his surface level deficiency in the smarts department.

He was also prone to some pretty good one-liners, usually attributed to momma.

I guess mommas are the source of a lot of our inherited wisdom.

I really like the scene where his beloved Jenny has returned, after many years of destructive wandering, to Greenbow, Alabama to be reunited with her lifelong friend.

They are walking along a dirt road when they stumble upon Jenny’s childhood home, a place of bad memories for her. Jenny begins to throw rocks at the abandoned and broken-down old house. When she exhausts the supply readily available she collapses and is consoled by Forrest, who in his movie narrator dual role makes the profound assertion that…

Sometimes, I guess, there just aren’t enough rocks.

That quote always seemed to convey deep meaning and I would find myself nodding my head in agreement, muttering in my mind, “you know, Forrest, you’re right, sometimes there just aren’t.”

But if you asked me point-blank what exactly Forrest meant by the statement, I would likely be hard-pressed to give a concise and cogent answer.

So in this post, I thought I would try to make some sense of why that particular Gump zinger was so meaningful to me.

Most of us harbor memories in life that aren’t so great. These can turn into resentments. If you hold those inside, as Jenny had apparently done, there may not be enough “rocks” to throw in the attempt to release those inner feelings of rage.

I know. I have a few myself.

Sometimes the thought of all that coming to the surface scares the hell out of me.

Green-tinted visions of Hulk-ish rage come to mind.

So best just to keep them buried deep down inside.

But is that really healthy?

I believe for Jenny her road to destruction ended with that pile of rocks. She’d been throwing them, in one way or another, all her adult life and I guess they just ran out.

How about you?

Still searching for rocks to throw?

Getting near the bottom of your pile?

Take a clue from Forrest Gump, drop those two in your hand you might be thinking of hurling just now…

make peace with your past and move on.

Link to Movie Clip

image credit: BryDeeC via Compfight cc