Vision Points North

There it is: Park City's Main Street at the tail-end of dawn. Full of promise with all of the potentially-great movies to see.

And here I am. Properly dressed for a cold day of dodging in and out of venues showing interesting, artistic, independent films (head-to-toe black with furry Eskimo-ish boots as a practical flourish).

And the number of films I saw today: none.

Curses to that orange credential around my neck. It had been my key to just about every door needing unlocking over the past few days. Now I watched my golden ticket turn to fool's gold; I'd forgotten that to be admitted into films, I also needed vouchers, which naturally I'd left in a neat little stack back in Salt Lake.

I tried my best to be my charming self and talk my way through this obstacle, but was told there were absolutely no exceptions. Now, like everyone else, I was barred from entry, permitted only to look longingly at the building from the outside.

Retreating in disappointment, I boarded the shuttle back to the main drag, where I met a group who had also given up on movies for the afternoon (by choice, however, not by force). The motley crew hailed from all over, didn't really know each other, but were bound by a common denominator: Tom (who was not present).

Even though I was not a friend of this mysterious Tom, his entourage kindly adopted me into their fold. We hit a couple of places on Main Street and then bided the rest of our time together in The Leaf Lounge.

My credential redeemed itself that evening when it gained me access to The Music Cafe.

I stopped in because I'd heard Rosie Thomas was on the docket. I'm not a die-hard Rosie Thomas fan (and was shocked to learn that, while her singing is silky and rich, her speaking voice has more in common with a Powder Puff Girl), but her song Wedding Day has earned a slot on my life's soundtrack. Whenever I'm in the process of a move (which is often) it gets a lot of playtime.

To me, the song is about moving on, from, whatever. Thinking you were right, learning you were wrong, then getting on with it. Having the courage to pack up and go, specific destination unknown, save the vow of being true to yourself and making the most of the open road before you. The song's core idea being that showing such commitment to yourself is as exhilarating as any wedding day.

"I'm gonna drive over hills, over mountains, and canyons," she sang, "I'm gonna be carefree and let nothing pass me by never ever again."

I thought hearing this song live, the artist mere feet before me, was an appropriate cap off to this day. The day itself a celebration in microcosm of my presence at this festival, right down to the mountainous commute.

I'm here only because my initial destination was pulled out from under me, forcing the implementation of an uncharted plan where whole new, previously unimagined, sets of opportunities continue to avail themselves. And there ahead is the future, the end-point unforeseen, full of promise with its myriad of potential possibilities.

But the truly amazing part is that even when something smallishly grand happens, like today, I can see how it was a direct result of staying committed to that nagging internal compass of mine. And knowing the experiences I would have missed cruising down another highway, makes me feel, for a moment, that I've arrived.

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