Some people cry at movies where teenaged lovers meet their tragedy with eyes open and hands held tight. Some when the old gunslinger dies to save the young. Some when true love recognizes itself in another’s eyes. Some for beauty, some for sadness. Me, I cry when men dare to dream, when they step trembling into the beyond, leaving all familiar ties behind. I cry when we peer over their shoulders and my god, it’s full of stars.
They’re a strange mix of tears. Tears of joy at the beauty of the dream, of setting sail for the unknown shore. Tears of empathetic sadness for the characters who must leave everything behind. Tears of rage at the idiocy of our species, who once rode pillars of fire into the skies but gave up those dreams with the rationalized logic of poets becoming accountants.
I’ve watched this trailer for Interstellar a dozen times, and the tears still stir. It’s a story that one after another hits every dimension of that melancholic joy that burns whenever I look up at the stars.
Because it’s next. Because we were not meant to die here. Because of those ancestors who tore their eyes from the dirt to stare at the sky and become men instead of apes. Because we will not go gentle.