The Unbearable Lightness of Val Kilmer

A project documenting my own journey of loving more, practicing gratitude, and being a better person…all influenced by the late actor Val Kilmer.

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  • And so it goes

    Today is Val Kilmer’s birthday. He would have been 66.

    It also happens to be New Year’s Eve, so it seems appropriate to talk a little bit about pivots and where I hope my life (and this little project) will go into 2026.

    I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. I made them when I was younger and, like most other people, I would be driven by their promise for a month or so before new ways would fall to old habits.. And also, like most other people, my resolutions were always a condemnation of self: made on an assumption that there was–and is–something fundamentally wrong with me. There were the classics: lose weight, exercise more, eat better. Quit some thing that, in its absence, would make my life better (alcohol, sugar, carbs, video games, napping, the list continues…). A pursuit of a better version of myself that was dictated, by and large, by outside forces.

    Now, to be sure, there’s inherently nothing wrong with pursuing any of these things. The problem is that it’s often pursued as the thing that will transform a life. A more holistic approach is needed. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to so deeply appreciate what complicated creatures we humans are. We all want to do better, to be better, but rarely do we stop and wonder if maybe the best solution isn’t to just learn to exist as we are right now and grow from there.

    When Val Kilmer became ill, he was spotted out and about looking thinner and wearing scarves around his neck. Of course, the speculation followed. His health status was no one’s business. (And neither was how he chose to acknowledge–or not–any health challenges.) But he was an actor, a public personality. Someone who we decided a long time ago didn’t belong to just himself.

    While it would have been understandable for him to have isolated in the face of that speculation and intrusion, over the years, he leaned into even more fully living his life. He continued to go out in public, his dress and style becoming more and more bohemian as the years passed. He launched social media, including a very active Instagram and Facebook, where he wrote about his films, shared his art, and poked fun at himself. He did films and interviews where he existed as an actor, person with a disability, and a human being. He acknowledged the diminishment of his voice, but didn’t let his challenges silence him. He wrote an autobiography and made a documentary film about his life. These were more than vanity projects: they showed a life well lived and, almost more importantly, someone who enjoyed living and growing, even while acknowledging that things didn’t always work out as hoped.

    Val, a little older, a little weirder, but just as cool

    When I started this project, I thought I would write once a week and that would be that, but I wasn’t prepared how the essence of it would change me. To be sure, this project was never about Val Kilmer. He was–and continues to be–a catalyst. His story (unfortunately preceded by his physical death) found me when I needed it.

    I have never been able to make plans. Sure, I can sort out dinner reservations for later in the week and pay my taxes, but real plans–where I want to be in a year or 5, 10, 20 years–that has never been something I’ve really done. It’s less “going with the flow” and some belief, deep down, that I don’t have (or don’t deserve….oof, that’s dark) a future. But, yet, here I am, well into my middle years, still going.

    Because of everything that came before it, this project and some admittedly strange fascination with Val Kilmer has helped me begin to reshape my life. For the first time, I’m making real plans for the future. I’m sorting out the parts myself I’ve ignored for a long time. Parts I wished would just go away or fix themselves. It’s quite literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m so grateful that I have the opportunity to do it.

    I’ve also started to deal with other aspects of my life: taking seriously some physical issues on the assumption that I’ll have (and want) a future. I even recently got braces (Invisalign) after years (decades) of just not being able to just do the thing I knew I should.

    This time last year I wouldn’t have been able to tell you it was Val Kilmer’s birthday. I also felt profoundly sad and desperate in a way that had become my normal. There was no New Year’s resolution that could or would have fixed that. Something deeper was needed. A shift from the inside out. That doesn’t come (usually) from promises made at the stroke of midnight on January 1 and, frankly, even as I’m living it, I’m not sure where it comes from. I can tell you that while the catalyst was–and remains–Val Kilmer, I obviously had the will and desire for change inside of me all along. And, I’m doing it in all its really messy and uncomfortable glory and horror. I can honestly say that I’m proud of myself.

    This is an exciting time and also I still want to write about Val Kilmer. I might need to write about him even more in the coming year as I dive deeper and become more comfortable with this new version of myself. I have to be bold enough to go out into the world too.

    In the last couple of months, as I’ve started orthodontics, I’ve used the “Iceman snapping his jaw” gif quite a bit, including with a friend who has face blindness. She can’t tell one actor from another, but because of that meme (and this little project) she knows Val Kilmer.

    I was having dinner with her and her partner the other night. Her partner said to me, “Tell (redacted) why she needs to watch Heat.” Obviously, I responded with “because it’s one of the greatest crime thrillers of all time”. I was then tickled that he followed up talking about Val’s deftness during the bank shoot out and how that scene is used in military training as an example of how to fire and unload/load an automatic weapon. I’m so happy someone other than me can spout those sorts of legendary stories!

    That lead to me making my friend a list of the Val Kilmer movies she must watch: Real Genius, The Doors, Tombstone, Thunderheart, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, etc. As I was compiling the list, I realized I’ve only seen about half of his films.

    I started this post talking about not being a fan of New Year’s resolutions and I’m still not, but I’m going to make one for 2026: watch all of his films (at least the ones I can find). I’ll fill in the filmography and write about some of them as I continue on my own journey…the one that kicked off in earnest, in part, because of a dude named Val Kilmer.

    So, happy birthday, Val Kilmer. I know you appreciated your life and I’m learning to do the same. Thank you for everything.

  • An Ode to Thor, Dog of Thunder

    Best intentions. They always have a way of falling by the wayside, don’t they?

    When I started this little project a couple months ago, I had no idea what would come my way. Such is life, of course, but I was not prepared for how my heart would be shattered in two.

    Thirteen years ago, I separated from my then husband. We had been married for over 15 years and, along with the fracturing of our relationship, I had to come to terms with the fact that I would not become a mother to my own children. At that point, I was in my late 30s and I had wasted time. Not just connected to my fertility, but my love and trust. To be fair, my now ex-husband played more than a passing role with all of that too.

    To help try and steady my world, I did a really stupid thing: I got a dog. People in the midst of grief and tumultuous change should perhaps take up something requiring less of a commitment, but there I was.

    The good and bad news is that little pile of floof, farts, and endless opinions was not just any pup; he was Thor, Dog of Thunder, an English bulldog that was equal parts silly boy, proud protector, neurotic baby, and, more than anything, the hero I might not have wanted, but the one I needed for that time and place in my life.

    I had known a few folks with English bulldogs–big slobbery beasts that were known for their inactivity more than anything else. This was not the case with Thor. He craved not only attention, but activity. He had boundless energy and the only way to quell it was through miles and miles of walks and runs. Luckily, he did not suffer the particular breathing issues so often found in bulldog breeds.

    His special physique also came with a strange psyche: his entire litter was burdened with behavioral challenges. I brought him to three trainers before one finally gave it to me straight: like with humans, there are some dogs who need accommodations, whose quirks need to be worked around for their whole lives. That was Thor: anxiety-ridden, aggressively friendly, and emotionally needy. He craved constant attention and validation, but, in return, he was the most sensitive boy a dog mom could ever ask for. I can’t tell you how many times I cried into his fur, my arms wrapped around his shoulders.

    Thor never had the typical health problems of his breed; instead he had a series of non-life-threatening ailments that required fairly immediate and exceedingly expensive treatment. This included a pro-lapsed urethra at 9 years old, a condition that simply doesn’t happen in older, neutered dogs. The vet braced me for the worst. After a battery of tests, which all came back normal, the diagnosis was made: chronic masturbation. Pro tip: your dog isn’t “fluffing” the pillows on the couch.

    For years, he did suffer from a collapsing trachea, a condition that occurs to a variety of breeds and sounds awful, but is very treatable, until it isn’t.

    About three weeks ago, I rushed Thor to the emergency vet after he couldn’t catch his breath. I had some maintenance done on my HVAC system and, per usual, he barked and barked–even on his anti-anxiety meds. He had reacted this way a multitude of times before, but this time he went into respiratory distress.

    At 1:45 am, the vet called. It was time to say goodbye. At 230 am, I held him as he took his last breaths, crying into his fur one last time.

    There aren’t words for what that dog meant to me. He saved my life so many times. Made me feel loved and worthy when I just didn’t. These weeks without him have been rough; the grief will catch me unaware and I have nowhere to put it except into heaving sobs as I dissolve into a puddle of goo.

    In my life, I’ve experienced lots of different types of grief. When my mom died, I spent years mourning the relationship we never had, the woman she never got to be. Grieving my marriage was about rethinking what I thought was true about myself and relationships in general.

    Grieving Thor is, excuse the pun, a different beast: this hurts as much as it does because I got to love him fiercely and fully, and have that love reciprocated in a way that I can never fully explain. He was a dog with a lot of problems that I was able to care for because of my very particular circumstances, and I was a human who needed to know a pure kind of love, one that would help me understand my resilience and value. We found each other at the exact right time and I will never not be grateful for that.

    So, here’s to you, Thor, Dog of Thunder. If Valhalla or some other after life exists, I hope you’re there with John and he’s giving you the appropriate amounts of popcorn and cheese, which would be, of course, all of it.

    You are and always will be the best boy.

    Thor, Dog of Thunder, as a Puppy of Thunder

  • September Challenge: Reading Mark Twain

    The last month has been rough for a variety of reasons and, I’ll be honest, I’m struggling right now. So, for September, we’re going easy.

    September’s challenge is to make a dent in Mark Twain, Ron Chernow’s recently released massive tome of a biography on the American humorist. You might be asking ‘why a dent? why not finish the whole thing?’

    Well. It’s over 1,000 pages, y’all, and I have a business and household to run. I need to make sure my pets don’t die and I occasionally exercise and eat food, so a dent is what we’re going for. The good news is I’m 50 pages in and it’s fascinating. I think I’m becoming a Mark Twain fan.

    This, of course, connects to Kilmer playing Twain on stage (see the above). By many accounts, this might have been his best role, enjoyed by a lucky few. Buried under make-up and prosthetics, he inhabited Twain not only on stage, but before the show, lounging in the theater throwing out witticisms. How fun it would have been to see.

    His filmography from IMDB teases Citizen Twain, which is the supposed film of the one-man show. As far as I know, an incomplete version was screened once in 2018 (filmed in 2015) and then was never finished. Here’s hoping that changes sometime in the future. I would love to see it.

  • Rewriting the Fairy Tale

    Once upon a time…

    If you’re a woman, you know how this story goes. There’s a princess or farm girl or unfulfilled career woman. She is alluring and young, but sad and lonely. And then, one day, her Prince Charming arrives. The details differ from telling to telling, but the ending is always the same: he saves her from her dull life full of solitude and drudgery and they live happily ever after. 

    It’s a bunch of bullshit, of course, but somehow, we still feed it to little girls and young women. And many of us, even those who consider ourselves feminists, strive for it, stepping over ourselves and our sisters in the pursuit of a perfect life and relationship that simply doesn’t exist. 

    Don’t take from this—as many men on the Internet seem to—that women need to reduce their standards. The insidiousness of the fairy tale requires that already, by miles, over and over, especially when we’re in a relationship or married. We don’t want to be the ones who failed, who will inevitably be blamed for the downfall of the family, for his cheating, for not trying hard enough. 

    Now here’s the part where I get very personal…

    For as long as I can remember, I was told by my mother that my value would come from the man I would marry and the children I would bear, even as my own father treated her horribly. I was determined to do better than she did. I wanted to go to college and was doing that on my own, when I met a man who told me he loved me on our second date. We married a year later. I was 21. 

    Marriage was not exactly as I had been hoping. Almost from the start, my spouse treated me as an afterthought as I chased after him on eggshells, terrified of the cutting words or cold shoulder a single crack would cause.

    I didn’t have friends or family of my own. That was a side effect of my marriage. I had him and his family. His sister and mom were my best friends. The few times I went out with potential new friends, he made me feel badly about leaving him alone, but time spent with him was on his terms even as he didn’t want to make any decisions. 

    He rarely bought me birthday or Christmas gifts as I was responsible for shopping for him and everyone in his family. The last Christmas we were together I gave him a list and was delighted to find he got me everything on it. His mother then shared she had done the shopping and wrapping for him. She had offered; she knew how it felt to be married to a man who didn’t prioritize his wife, and she wanted to give me a good holiday. I suspect my husband learned what he had gotten me as I opened each gift. When I confronted him, he didn’t understand why I was upset. 

    The cooking and cleaning fell to me, even as I worked a full-time, demanding job. Not by choice, but by the gender roles we grew up in and then fell into. He said it was fair because he was responsible for the yard and house maintenance, even as our home fell into disrepair and grass and blackberry bushes grew so unruly only professionals could tame them. He would leave piles of his stuff around the house, saying he would take care of it, even as the previous piles sat for years. I would ask if he wanted me to call someone to take care of the sagging bathroom floor or the questionable plumbing and he would get angry as if I had insulted his manhood. Yet, the problems got worse and worse, and my only choice was to look away. Pretend, like with everything else in my marriage, that all was just fine. 

    He once told me no one was forcing me to clean the house days after he yelled at me for finding crumbs under the toaster. 

    And then, one late summer day, he sent me a text message. He was unhappy and didn’t know why but was pretty sure he wanted out of our marriage. This was a week after our 16th wedding anniversary. A text message. To end our marriage.

    Of course, he came home, but I would’ve preferred he had stayed away. He didn’t talk to me except to say the cruelest of things (“I don’t think I ever loved you” being one of his greatest hits). We lived under the same roof for another few months before separating. And when he did leave, he took only the items he cared about, leaving his mess and the falling in house to me. 

    I lived with his things stuffed in a back bedroom for almost three more years. Never wanting to complain too much and, when I would to his mom and sister (a big mistake…), I would be told to give him time. Once again, I felt forced to wait on him.  

    He never said the word ‘divorce’ and would shush me when I would want to talk practicalities. He earned significantly more than I did. My career and education always took a back seat to his even as I supported him (with an assist from savings and unemployment) through the job losses that were status quo in the tech industry of the late 1990s and mid-2000s. ‘It’s not the right time,’ he would say when I would ask about going back to school, as he would be studying for a new certification, planning to go to a convention on our dime, or heading out with his friends. And because public transportation is as it was where we lived, I would spend my evenings waiting for him to text to tell me when he was ready to be picked up from work. Sometimes that would be at 7 pm and we would enjoy dinner together; other times it was after midnight and he got in my car smelling like a distillery. On the ride home, he would ask about my day, clearly not caring and just waiting for his chance to talk. Over time I figured out he wasn’t sharing details about his day or work because he cared about doing that with me; he was filling the silence and it was better than having to pretend to care about what I had to say. 

    In the end, I divorced as badly as I married. His sister convinced me to not push too hard for anything. We were—and would always be, she said—sisters. A bad divorce would jeopardize that. Afraid of losing my only family, I let him convince me to share an attorney. By that point, I was so wrung out—in the middle of home repairs that I was barely cobbling together from my meager savings—that I just said yes to get it over with. 

    It would take me years to parse out what I had been through in my marriage and I am not sharing the half of it here. To no one’s surprise (even mostly my own), his family—including the sister—ditched me as soon as the signatures were dry on the divorce paperwork. In the end, we were married for 19 years. By the time, it was over, I was a shell, on the verge of perimenopause, and terrified of the future. 

    People talk about how divorce destroys them with the drawn-out fights and struggles. In the end, it was the silence and complacency that did me in. 

    While I was married, I’m embarrassed to say, I saw myself as having achieved something special, as if I was somehow—with a marriage, house, and career, such as they were—more accomplished than other women. This, too, is the insidiousness of the fairy tale.  

    We, as women, have been taught to sneer at those who are (supposedly) beneath us. Those with less education, status, and money. Those without a partner (or the right kind of partner) or kids. Those who became, through choice or circumstance, single mothers. Those who chose peace over the endless pursuit of a lucrative career, romantic love, or the “perfect” body. Those who dare to accept themselves as they are, gain weight, or get old. From an early age, we are taught to compete with one another—all so we won’t be left behind, so we won’t be the failure, the mocked and ridiculed girl on the sidelines begging for scraps. It is never enough. 

    But here’s the terrible reality: how they treat the supposed “worst” of us is how they will eventually—and want to—treat all of us. 

    I’m not just talking about men here, but also women who somehow still believe the fairy tale (and our misogynistic, capitalistic system writ large) will work for them despite all the evidence to the contrary. Beauty, grace, talent, submission. None of those things shield women from the fact that, by and large, we are a commodity. A thing to be bought and sold, used and tossed aside when we dare to lose our ability to have kids, become unpleasing in some way, speak our minds too loudly, or step out of line from the societally accepted definitions of femineity. 

    It was only after I stopped believing the fairy tale and accepted my culpability in keeping it alive did I begin to heal. It will be a life long process. I will always be sad that I never got to have children or experience college as a young woman or all the other things I gave up in pursuit of the fairy tale. 

    If you’re reading this, are a woman, and can’t identify with any of it, I envy you and applaud your parents. And, if you found the fairy tale—a man who is always kind and considerate (the bar is in the basement)—congratulations. I am so happy for you and hope you’re prepared, just in case. 

    We must acknowledge that we are living in strange times, indeed. There was a period—while I was in my 20s and 30s—that the idea of marriage being a woman’s top priority seemed to be fading. Of course, there is nothing wrong with wanting romance and marriage, but there was more being said about women valuing their own autonomy and needs over that of a finding a partner. 

    Now, we are regressing. Whether or not you would ever have an abortion, the overturning of Roe v. Wade hurt every woman in the United States. In a decision made by mostly men, we lost our right to bodily autonomy. Spare me about it being about the life of a child. Abortion is not legal in any state—except to save the life of the mother—beyond the point of viability. 

    With GLP1 medications, women are making themselves smaller and smaller physically, which is, in some strange way, taking the place of any bodily autonomy we once enjoyed. Strong is not celebrated. Health is an afterthought. Many of the same people championing the use of drugs with unknown long-term side effects to lose a pesky 20 pounds question vaccines and don’t see the irony of touting “diet and exercise” (when for many fresh foods and hours in the gym are an impossibility) as the best medicine. 

    More and more young women are consuming and celebrating “trad wife” content, which is just an extension of the fairy tale. Terrible news: those aren’t trad wives you’re watching; they’re content creators. Like the fairy tale, it’s all subterfuge. 

    And then there are the men. There’s a male loneliness epidemic, or so I hear. Let’s be clear: I feel for them, I do. They’ve been as hurt by the fairy tale as much as anyone else, and are being manipulated by the same people who see a woman’s main purpose as pregnancy and child rearing. Many of these men believe they’re owed a woman that meets their impossible standards, who is always willing, able, and agreeable. They’ve also been led to believe that all women care most about a height over six feet, washboard abs, and a big bank account. This is simply not true. Be kind. Care about what she needs and wants. Be supportive. Wash a dish on occasion (or much more). As a bonus, make her laugh. Do these things and you’re doing better than most of the men in relationships I know. 

    So, what to do? I believe that all people—no matter their gender—should make their own health and financial independence a priority. We live in a capitalistic society and there’s no getting around that. We should not and cannot depend on someone else for a roof and food. We all deserve to experience the joy of romantic love if we so choose, but not at the potential expense of our well-being and safety. 

    I’ve shared and said a lot here. These are the things that I’ve been unpacking in the current climate and as I inch forward towards the 10-year anniversary of my divorce. Since then, I’ve fixed up the house (with an eye on finally remodeling the kitchen in the next couple of years) and started a business that pays a living wage to its employees and does good work. I have hobbies and friends, incredible people I am so thankful for. I am, most days, proud of myself and, especially, that woman who came before who endured so much to get me to here, to this point where I can, finally, try to live even more fearlessly…with a gentle nudge by Val Kilmer (lol). 

    Society tells us a lot of lies. We have to be strong enough to reject what isn’t real or practical and live on our own terms. If a woman wants to be a stay-at-home mom, that’s wonderful…and also she cannot trust that forever is real. Fairy tales don’t exist, but each of us has the power to be the hero of our own story. 

  • Frustration

    Val Kilmer from Real Genius with panda ear muffs around his neck looking confused.
    I wish I had panda ear muffs. They wouldn’t make my heel feel better, but maybe….

    I am recovering from an injury. It’s nothing major: I fell incorrectly in a martial arts class and bruised my hip. Overcompensating for the soreness, I caused a flare up of a long ago planar fasciitis injury. I’m on week three of healing: lots of stretching and rest. It gets a bit better every day, but I can’t run more than a few minutes or walk more than a mile.

    I should celebrate that it feels a bit better every day, but this last week has been a challenge. I’m frustrated that the healing isn’t faster, that I can’t do more. My confidence in my body and what it can do has taken a hit and I hate it.

    What is it about many of us silly little humans that makes us focus on what we can’t do versus what we can?

    What would Val Kilmer do? Well, Iceman would keep going with unwavering confidence. I’m not Iceman though. Not even close.

    But I can clock a good Chris Knight so I’ll keep trying with as best a sense of humor as I can muster.

  • August Challenge: Being Present

    Every month of this little project, I intend to set myself a challenge. The intention isn’t perfection—which can make me give up when I’m not—but intention and awareness. 

    It seems to me that every step forward in my life has been one that brings me to a better understanding of this: that you do your thing every day the best you can, and you approach any success at it with humility.

    —Val Kilmer

    This month’s challenge is to be present.

    But, first, we need some definitions, because in our TikTok world, the rate of influencers, wellness coaches, and charlatans encouraging ‘being present’ is omnipresent without much shape or action. 

    For me, ‘being present’ means existing in the moment, being aware of my thoughts and feelings, exploring them as useful, and challenging ideas that aren’t.

    As best I can figure, there are a few reasons that I am prone to wandering away from the immediate moment: 

    Fear of Missing Out: The internal “squirrel!” conundrum. What bright and shiny thing am I missing out on by focusing on the task at hand? The answer is often: “nothing.”

    Overwhelm: When there’s too much going on, too much to keep track of, too much of the world, my mind will wander away or fast track to….

    Anxiety: Fight or flight from a lifetime of stuff. I’m one of those high-functioning people who you would never know has anxiety unless you take my blood pressure or I let my feelings get the best of me, which happens when something is hard and I start to believe that I’m not capable. 

    Boredom: This is a big one. It’s the reason that I can rarely finish a TV show without scrolling my phone. Instead of finding something different to watch—or better yet, turning off the TV—I pick up my phone and focus on nothing at all. 

    When any of these things happen, I overconsume; the usual stuff, of course: food, money, sometimes alcohol, but also my mental acuity and self-confidence. 

    So, this month, in our practice of being more present and aware, we have tools to battle all of the above: 

    Curiosity: I’ll take a moment to ask why I feel the way I do. Is it valid? If not, can I let it go or recognize it as a fleeting feeling? If it is valid, do I need to do anything about it or simply recognize its existence? 

    Movement: The best way I know to get out of my head is to take a walk, go for a run, do some Yoga, lift heavy things, or practice my martial art (budo taijitsu). 

    Take Good Care: Over the last few months, I’ve slowly stopped eating ultra processed food, sugar, and simple carbs, and only drink alcohol when I’m out with friends. I’ll keep up this practice and make sure I’m getting good sleep (something I’m not always great at) and work on meditating and/or keeping up with my spiritual practice most days of the week. 

    Re-center My Mind: If I’m bored, I will change what I’m doing OR simply sit in the boredom without distraction if I have no real reason to be on my phone. 

    Limit my external “diet”: This means social media and also curating news sources versus mindlessly scrolling and getting wound up by things that the algorithm wants me to react to.

    Enjoy Simple Pleasures: Pet my dog. Read a book. Breathe fresh air. Text a friend how much they mean to me. Watch a Val Kilmer movie. =) 

    And, that’s it. That’s the plan. Again, the goal is not perfection; it’s simply a practice to show up for myself.

  • The Beginning

    Unbearable Lightness of Val Kilmer

    In August of 2024, I learned that my friend, John, had committed suicide. He was 52 years old. 

    I had known John since I was a kid. We had remained friends in that way you do with those you meet in childhood and maintain a relationship with as an adult; that is, as life allows. 

    In the last decade or so, we had grown closer despite being geographically far apart. We would text, call, or visit as often as time and work and other obligations allowed. He cheered me on during my divorce and I did my best to do the same over what had been a rough few years: a lost job, home, and relationship. He had been down—as anyone would be—but I had always assumed he would make it through as he—and I—had before, and then…he didn’t. 

    When I heard the news, I was angry and sad and then, like how I’ve handled so many things in my life, I went numb. I ignored the pain and sorrow and kept floating through my life, filled with the familiar emptiness and anxiety I could never quite do anything about. 

    Then, on April 1, 2025, like a cosmic joke, I found myself absolutely devastated by the death of the actor Val Kilmer. Like, ‘could barely function for days’ devastated. ‘Liable to burst into sobs at any moment’ devastated. All over a man I didn’t even know and whose movies I hadn’t thought about in decades. 

    But, down a rabbit hole I went. I watched his movies. All of the ones I could easily find, that is, even some of the later ones that are barely watchable or, in some cases, better than they have any right to be. I read his autobiography and the profiles done throughout his career and life. I scoured YouTube for interviews and retrospectives. Val Kilmer became my preoccupation. A new hobby. My constant companion. I felt like I was learning the definition of “parasocial” in real time. 

    I realized eventually, of course, that Val Kilmer was simply a stand-in for the grief I hadn’t let myself feel for my friend. Something happened though in the middle of understanding what was driving my obsession: I became inspired. 

    Val Kilmer was a remarkable—albeit deeply complicated—man. You’re forgiven for not knowing that. I wonder how many did because his moments of true brilliance and humanity, I think, came outside or long after Hollywood—and the big studio films he was once known for—held any answers. His is a story of perseverance, determination, and the power of humility. He got back up, again and again, when knocked down by personal tragedies, the ego of youth, his own bad behavior, the curse of perfectionism, an industry that no longer wanted him, and, finally, the loss of his health and voice. 

    As I learned more, I thought about my friend—why couldn’t he have believed in himself in the same way? And then I thought: why don’t I? 

    The ugly truth—of the sort you only admit in your quietest moments—is I’ve spent my life making myself small so as to never be perceived while desperately wanting to be seen. My fear of rejection, failure, and ridicule have limited my perceived choices and, often, left me paralyzed. I talk a good game, but the naked reality is I live in regrets and past slights and have done little to move on. To be sure, I think I’ve done mostly fine in life, but just…fine. How much more could I have done—could do!—if I just lived boldly? Unapologetically. Without fear, but with kindness and compassion, especially for myself. What if I ignored the voices in my head and just…tried? Or to look at it through the cinematic lens of Val Kilmer: what if I took to heart Iceman’s advice to Maverick: “It’s time to let go.”

    So, I have. At least, I’m learning to and, for better or worse, I’m letting Val Kilmer be my guide. Is this weird? Absolutely. It’s totally nuts and I’m pretty sure I’m having a mid-life crisis, but you know what? Over the last few months, since considering the Unbearable Lightness of Val Kilmer (and, finally, grieving my friend), I have made more strides than ever to create the me and the life that I want. I find myself smiling a lot and I can actually say that I (mostly) like myself now. Every day, I awake excited (and, sometimes, absolutely fucking terrified) of what comes next. 

    That gets us to here, dear reader. The next step in the process: this thing I’m writing to document this journey—at 50!— for myself, in honor of my friend, and to, hopefully, show the power of simply showing up. And, of course, all this comes along with a side of writing about Val Kilmer and his movies. Will anyone read it? Who knows and it doesn’t really matter. I want to do it, so I am and that’s the point. 

    The goal is to update this project weekly for at least a year starting in August 2025—the anniversary of John’s death. 

    Soon before he lost his voice to cancer, Val did an interview with a Norwegian TV program. His voice is strangled—he seems to struggle to speak several times—and he looks not much like Doc Holliday, Bruce Wayne, or, even, Gay Perry. What is remarkable though is how present and honest he is. This is a man who has decided to take off the mask and let the world judge him, good or bad. It could easily have been a tragic display of a once famous man grappling with the loss of his glory days, but it is, in a word, delightful. He’s funny and charming and self-aware in a way that makes you root for him and want more.

    There’s one quote from that interview I think about when I start to question why I’m doing this whole exercise: “I wish that I had loved more. I want to be a better person. I try to figure that out, every day, to be more grateful.” 

    Me too, Val. Me too. So, let’s go.