Film festivals are strange places. There is usually an opportunity to see miraculous images that have the potential to transform us, but often there are also a few obstacles: red carpets get in the way of true connection, and the hustle of crowds can create stress. That, of course, can become an invitation to mindfulness, which is what the best films lead to anyway. A couple of weeks ago, I was at one of my favorite such events, North Carolina’s amazing and diverse Full Frame Festival, which often transcends the elitism of other festivals, and at which you can feel the thrill of audiences tuning in to—well, I guess we could just call it more life. Documentary has a way of both conveying information and illuminating the inner lives of its subjects that, at its best, becomes a powerful mirror to the audience. Fiction can do the same, of course, but there’s something about nonfiction storytelling that is more immediate, and perhaps speaks to a different part of the viewer’s mind and heart.

Yesterday, after beginning to read John O'Donohue's conversations with John Quinn, I woke up in the middle of the night, with these thoughts forming. I think many of us are not present to our own lives; it's as if we see the outline of ourselves but can't quite occupy them. We're either living smaller than we're made to be, or outside the frame of who we really are. I'm not one to believe that there is a guiding hand that decided for us in advance what kind of person we would turn out, but something emerges in formative years, aspirations mingling with wounds to produce a sense of calling. Later this solidifies into the answer to the questions about what brings both healing to the world and joy to the person doing the healing. How to fill the space that has been given you, no less and no more.