Almost five years later and the fandom is still examining body parts. Unlike snowflakes and grains of sand, some hands actually do look the same. Sam is very tall. If that were his hand, his head should be attached to the same body and would be visible above Colbert’s head. The person who owns that hand is either shorter or the same height as the doc. On that note I suggest we all go outside for a walk, take up knitting or read a book. Life is short.

Or is sitting down…. Or the owner of the mystery hand is turned to the side…. Or perhaps they are standing on a step…

It doesn’t matter if the hand belongs to Sam or a random person that Sam needs to hire ASAP as a hand double. Not sure why one might need a hand double, but just in case, life being what it is, if you find one, own it I say. Anywho…

I was just thinking this morning about the infantismally small odds of finding success as an actor. Like, say, if one of my kids declared they were off to Hollywood to chase fame and fortune as an actor, I would riot. For it is a fools errand. Success implausible to the point that it qualifies as down right ~delusional. Truly. A romantic notion of the highest order. Foolish. Delusional. Romantic. For Sam and Caitriona to be where they are today, they had to believe and act foolishly, delusionally, and romantically when the world offered evidence multiple times a day everyday to the contrary that either one would ever find success.

And yet they openly scoff, shame, and belittle, fans who foolishly, delusionally, and romantically believe in them. Why is it ok for them, but not the fans who made them who they are? For to look at that picture and say, “looks like Sam’s hand”, is far more practical, reasonable, grounded, and plausible of a notion than to say, “I’m going to be a famous actor.”

Why all the judgement? From them. From fellow fans. Aren’t we all drinking from the same foolish cup? We are. I just do not get it. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So I’ll leave you with this:

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

~ Derek Walcott

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