Growing up, my family and I drove six hours from Dallas, Texas to Fayetteville, Arkansas every year to spend Christmas Eve with our paternal grandparents.

Each night my brothers, cousins, and I would sift through a small stockpile of VHS tapes hidden in my paternal grandparents’ closet, trying to decide what movie we should watch. The selection was sparse and never really changed over the years. There were a few Disney classics like Aladdin and The Lion King, but one unexpected movie permanently etched itself into my child-mind above all the rest.

That movie was My Neighbor Totoro, a Japanese animated film brought to life by director Hayao Miyazaki of the now-renowned Studio Ghibli.

The whole vibe of this Totoro movie felt different compared to the Disney films of the time. It was weird, like a fever dream. The creepy, sentient soot balls, the giant but lovable shape-shifting owl/cat/raccoon, and the eerie sound of raindrops pounding against a girl’s umbrella remain wedged into the folds of my long-term memory. For whatever mysterious reason, it became one of our favorites to watch together as kids. But even today as I try to stitch together its pieces to explain the plot, I don’t even remember what it was about. Part of its charm, perhaps, that plot was unimportant to the movie, or at least it was to me. What was important was the entire experience of the thing—art which pulled at my senses and an imagination that blended reality and magic.

I have no idea how my grandfather got ahold of a Japanese animated movie or why he selected it as part of his grandkids tiny movie collection (I may never know as he passed away a few years ago), but this fantastical and haunting film left an indelible mark upon my childhood psyche, a stain that has returned to me in the present.

It was last month, Christmas break of 2023. My cousins and brothers were in town and we had postponed seeing Studio Ghibli’s thirtieth film The Boy and the Heron up until that day so that we could watch it together.

And so we did, witnessing how Miyazaki has grown up alongside his audience, his evolving perspective colored by the darker tones and deeper layers of the story structure. This film isn’t just a fantastical tale about nothing, but in fact the opposite; it’s a story about the most important things, wrestling with themes like death and what it means to live a life worth living (I would later find out the director was heavily inspired by a book titled How Do You Live?).

[small spoilers ahead]

One particularly moving part of the movie was when the protagonist reaches the tower master responsible for constructing the various layers of non-reality. This master of the universe has but one request for the boy:

“Create beautiful worlds, untainted by malice.”

I haven’t been able to shake these words from my mind since hearing them. Create beautiful worlds untainted by malice, a universal invitation since we all create worlds by painting reality with our senses and perceptions in every moment. To create without corruption and delusion might be impossible, but I believe stepping forward with a sincere intention to create from a place of good makes all the difference. To embark on a sincere journey of creation is one way to answer the question: how do you live?

Anyway, by the end of the movie, I felt like some sort of circle had reached its completeness in my life, a long line which began in childhood, weaved its way through the past, and found its way into the here and now.

To witness this film with my brothers and cousin who grew up watching Ghibli Studio films felt significant, our childhood minds once again awakened, digesting mystical storytelling, soaking in highly compressed meaning. I have a feeling The Boy and the Heron will stay with me and guide me in my journey to create beautiful worlds just as the friendly neighbor Totoro did for me long ago. I wish you the best in your journey, too.

Book Event for True Nature

In other exciting news, I’m holding a book signing event and discussion for True Nature at Interabang Books in Dallas, TX on Friday, January 26th @ 6pm. If you’re interested in coming, let me know! I will likely send out more “official” invites soon and dedicate a future email to bring more attention to this event later this week, but consider yourself invited.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,
David