Stranger than fiction

I was stuck in my office on a lonely day and going through my old DVD collection. Like most people in 2026, I haven't watched an actual DVD in a very long time, but I am also sentimental and I keep all my old collection. Fumbling through them I came across the case for one of my absolute favorite Will Ferrell movies. 

Sandwiched between the release of Old School and Talladega Nights was one of Will Ferrell's best movies. What kind of movie is this, you might wonder. The name of the movie is "Stranger than fiction." A beautiful little dramatic comedy that was released in 2006, staring (besides himself): Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson. This was an odd film that released during the peak of Will Ferrell's career. People were quoting his movies and he was a movie icon of the era. This is a movie that grossed $53 million on a budget of $30 million. Clearly, not a epic film. I love this film because its unusual premise.

Spoilers

The movie is about an IRS auditor named Harold Crick, who finds himself experiencing a disembodied voice of a narrator that he can actively hear. The narrator predicts his death and this leads to a selection of events where he has to reconcile the life he lived, as well as what he considers a life worth living. It is a beautiful story because it focuses on how the simple aspects of life can serve to create the most amazing stories. 

I grew up in a town, which grew into a small city in Manitoba. Manitoba- very flat, with extreme winters. This is where my town is located. The historical background of it is Mennonite. A religious group, who had pacifism as driving piece of their identity. They were also farmers and sometimes merchants. This is not the stuff of grand tales. They isolated themselves and tended to be a little more inward focus. This is my town. These are my people. 

When I was a boy, I wanted to be a fighter pilot. When I was in my 20's I wanted to be a Bible professor. When I was in my 30's I wanted to be a school teacher. I have spent my working life in retail. 

February 28, May 13, June 4, July 2, July 5, July 8, July 14, August 23, September 1, September 15, and November 19. These days probably have no meaning for you. These are the dates of anniversaries, birthdays and deaths of very important people in my life. They represent the pivotal moments of that my life orbits around. Yet, they likely mean nothing to you. 

“Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.”
― Zach Helm, Stranger Than Fiction: The Shooting Script

 When I think about the perspective of my life, I am fully aware of the mundane. I am aware that living in Manitoba can be dreary in the winter, but it can also have amazing summers and killer sunsets. Coming from Mennonite stalk doesnt really come with a great deal of amazing stories, but I am also conscious that it is a very generous and gracious community that has deep feeling built into its foundations. I can look at my career trajectory and see failure, but I am also conscious of a litany of people I have done my absolute best to help and to teach them not to be so afraid. Finally, the dates of my life. These dates mean nothing, only if I allow it. If I can draw you in and share my life with you, you can know that my birthday is on July 2, my anniversary is on February 28 and my nephew was born on August 23-to name a few. The really brilliant thing about the movie "Stranger than Fiction" is that it left my with the distinct lesson that you really do need to enjoy your life. The miniscule, the mundane and the routine are often treasures in jars of clay that we carry and we rarely take the time to stop and take it all in. 

Following Paths of Failure

I have recently been re-reading my books from seminary. This was a unique part of my life. I met deeply unique creatures and was steeped in a culture that reveled in the Scriptures. From as young as I can remember, I loved the Bible—Old Testament and New. I loved the wisdom of Jesus, the emotions of the Psalms, the justice of the Judges. It all shone with brilliance to me, and still does, if I am honest.

I remember weeping to my mother about how I wanted to be a Bible professor. I set off to Providence in search of that dream. I completed my three-year degree in two years. This elevated track of study was exhausting, but it allowed me to enjoy languages—another passion—and to steep myself in wisdom. I continued on my track to seminary.

Seminary was decidedly different. Graduate studies had far less structure. Looking back now, I was ill-suited for it and treated it like a truant boy hoping to glide through. I did earn a master’s degree from Providence, but it was not what I had wanted. I earned a degree in Christian Studies rather than Biblical Studies because my teachers felt I was not taking my work seriously. They were, of course, correct.

This was the season when I used my student loans to buy a sword and skipped classes to play Settlers of Catan with my friends. The result was failure—rather spectacular failure. I applied to McGill University and was promptly rejected for not being competitive. I had never heard of a professor without a PhD. I tried retaking a course, but the wheels had fallen off the car, and the professor advised me to withdraw. What a blow to my hopes and dreams—and to my ego.

What is Tyler if he is not a professor?
That question stayed with me for some time. In the light of my failures, was I too a failure?

At that point, I went and got myself married to a woman who casually suggested maybe we should have babies. So here I am, fifteen years later, still thinking about failure—the deep disappointment that comes with letting go of a dream. And yet, looking at where my life has gone, I do not think I would trade what I have for what I lost.

I have found meaning in caring for people, both personally and professionally. Fifteen years of toiling in retail, with the judgment of “you could have been something” hanging in the air, does give one perspective. My life, in some respects, has been a failure. I did not earn a PhD. I did not mentor young people in a classroom. I did not travel as much as I hoped.

And yet, I do not believe my life has been wasted. I worked to keep a wife and children stable. I endeavored to care about the people I served and refused to sell out my morality. That is not to say I always acted rightly, but I sought to be better—professionally and morally. I tried to grow, to change, to challenge myself. May it be said of Gerry and Irma’s youngest son that he did not give up, either in the face of time or adversity.

As with all of this, I am inclined to ask what lessons I am teaching my children. We live in a world where our desires are treated as the fullest expression of the human experience. For a long time, I believed the only thing I had to offer was my mind.

In the course of my work, I once had a customer tell me he needed to upgrade his phone because he was burying his sixteen-year-old son that weekend. He spoke quietly of a heart defect and of doctors who failed to save his life on the operating table. I have helped bear the burdens of countless others like him.

The common nature of my work may seem to lack purpose, yet it has offered innumerable chances to bring meaning into the lives of others. A life of service may not seem glamorous or song-worthy, but it represents some of the most genuine parts of the human experience. Going to work each day is not what they will write epics about, but it is the engine of humanity. In doing it faithfully, I have come to believe that treasure is often found in unexpected places.

The lesson for my children comes from Rudyard Kipling’s If:
to dream, but not make dreams your master.