Lost...

"Sooner or later/ We'll look back on everything/ And we'll laugh about it/ Like we knew what all was happening" -- Michael Tolcher's Sooner or Later

When it comes to the family of Lost viewers, I am cousin Oliver. Late to the game. I spent last summer and fall catching up, but I still feel like a third wheel. I know what is going on and am emotionally invested, but I have not spent years stewing in the nuanced meanings and conspiracy theories as have my Oceanic sistren and brethren. But I am still a part of the family, and excited about the family reunion that will be going on in just a couple of hours.

I've learned a couple of things from my new found Lost obsession. One was adequately expressed in THIS NEWSWEEK ARTICLE from a few weeks ago. The author posits that there are two kind of Lost fans, and they roughly correspond to the ways different people approach faith. The first group will be entirely unsatisfied if a single mystery of the island is left unexplained. The smoke monster, Claire's disappearance, Adam and Eve-- all must come to an adequate resolution. The second group has no such expectation. These mysteries serve no other purpose than to illuminate the public and private lives of the characters. They move the plot along, but they are not the point. I fall in the second group. I'm more interested in Hurley finding peace, Sun finding Jin, Sawyer finding community, Kate finding Jack (and Evangeline Lilly finding me,) than I am in any answers to questions. I suppose this is how I approach my faith as well, but this is not a post about faith. (Or is it?)

The second thing I have learned is this. As I was going through my Lost marathon last summer, my friend Josh (who loved so much that he was more omniscient than me) would call and ask me questions in mock excitement. "Craig, what do you think about that SMOKE MONSTER!," or, "Man, that hatch is FREAKY CRAZY isn't it?!" Through conversations with him and others I realized the point of this teasing-- What seems important at any given time can often seem insignificant later. The episode when John Locke was looking for some kind of meaning was indicative of this. Pounding on the door of the Hatch, weeping over Boone's death, the light burst open and shone brightly in the darkness. This was momentous. Where did the light come from? What did it mean? Was it an alien? What was it? But after the story moves on (and we discover Desmond, one of my favorite characters,) the Hatch just doesn't seem like that big of a deal. There are new mysteries to discover.

I suppose something about life can be said about this. Be comfortable with mystery and the unanswerable. You don't have to know everything. Relax in the moment. One day you'll laugh all about it, like you knew what all was happening. And whatever you do, don't believe a word Benjamin Linus tells you. He's creepy.