I often reminisce about the night I wrote my review for the 2023 film “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.” I came home after an early screening of the movie, made myself a drink and settled into bed with my laptop. I had been anticipating the film like no other. The adventurous archeologist was close to my heart, a figure that remained beloved to me as I grew from a child into an adult. My feelings on the newest installment were mixed, having had a good time with the film but acknowledging it had many downfalls.
As I tried to express these emotions on the page, I grew increasingly sentimental. As I wrote my last paragraph, I poured my heart out. I was saying goodbye to a central piece of me, a character who reflected my strengths and insecurities. Typing the last sentence, I may have even become a bit misty-eyed.
I don’t believe many folks take that experience away from reading the review. They probably think, “Wow. This guy likes Indiana Jones a lot.” That doesn’t matter, though. Being able to put that part of me on the page was therapeutic. I shared a side of me I would typically be afraid to in person. Explaining how I connect to Indiana Jones’ isolating self-driven nature in a physical conversation feels strange. But within the context of a movie review, it doesn’t seem so out of place.
When I’m writing, I’m alone with the words. There’s no judgment and no confusion. It’s a freeing experience where, for once in my life, I understand myself, my feelings and how I contextualize the world. Though it may sound silly, I did this mostly through writing about film on The Daily Utah Chronicle arts desk.
My parents raised me on a steady diet of movies. For me, they were explanations for reality disguised as escapism. Films have always helped me understand what I couldn’t about myself or the world. Hard truths were easier to carry with an on-screen hero to share the weight of them. Putting it dramatically, movies taught me how to survive and care for myself and others.
Of course, growing up I learned that this was not the way many people lived. Trying to explain how fictitious events and characters informed my way of living often led to faces of puzzlement or laughter. It made me second-guess myself and question if something was wrong with me. Frankly, I still feel that way to this day, but that’s where the Chronicle comes in.
Writing reviews and recommendation lists, I’ve been able to lay out my mind unfiltered and without hesitation. I’ve always written as if I’m uncontrollably vomiting my thoughts onto the page. What comes to my mind turns into words. With that, some of my values, doubts and beliefs inevitably snuck into my stories. Whether obvious or not, my thoughts on politics, religion, sex, morality and more live in my articles.
I’ve never been particularly outspoken, and I believe at times that made my relationships weaker. I strive to be known by others by how I see myself. However, I fear my unwillingness to share the more serious side of me has made me a caricature of myself to some. Writing for the arts desk gave me an outlet to be true to myself and others as I worked to become more outspoken in person. While discussing and writing about art, I am confident in who I am, what I believe and what I want. The person I want people to know me as loudly screams his opinions through my stories. My work on the Chronicle represents the Graham Jones I aspire to be.
To be honest, I’m not going to look back on college with the fondest of eyes. While it had many, many high points, it was an admittedly rough four years. I met friends and loved ones while discovering the hardships of adult life. I faced exciting new experiences while being the loneliest and most depressed I’ve been in my entire life. Most importantly, I discovered who I am, one of the greatest and most difficult parts of my university experience. Yet, when I look back at everything I did these last four years, I feel proud. I think about the articles I wrote, the memories I created and the smiles I put on friends’ faces. All those times I wanted my world to end, I chose to live through my work.
