One of my favorite movies is Hot Tub Time Machine. Once a week—bare minimum—I consider its lessons. The soundtrack is perfect. The jokes are unseemly. The lure of time travel, aimed at reversing a life of regrets, is promising.
One time, I convinced my wife to watch it with me. She has since indicated her desire to never watch that movie again. She won’t say why, but I assume she finds the movie stupid. Because it is stupid. And quite childish. Still, I don’t understand and I’m done rationalizing it; I love this movie and will likely watch it while I cook my lunch later today.
The plot involves three men living out the dream I longed for during my years of medicine: a chance to go back and rewrite the story of my life. I’ll take a shot in the dark—more extrapolation in the light, given the film grossed $65 million—but I’d hazard to guess most people would like to time travel back and undo something they did or failed to do. I certainly did. Makes me think of what a friend told me once: “Hope of changing the past is the most addicting drug.” I was hooked on that high for eight years, only sensing freedom once I changed my present.
Anymore, I’m not interested in going back to 2014. I’ve sobered up. Don’t worry though, I will keep watching Hot Tub Time Machine to my wife’s dismay. It’s an apt reminder to stay awake and make choices from who I am, not what I fear. Because in this dimension, I can’t risk needing a magical hot tub to make the most of my life.
To livin’ a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
(This week, I opened access to my 7 Days of Aliveness course, a jumpstart toward a live we love. If you sign up here—even if you’re already a subscriber—you’ll receive a daily email of encouragement (and lived advice) for the next seven days.)
