Roll Film: The Movie of My Life
If my life were a movie, picture it starting with a wide-angle shot of the Rocky Mountains. The screen fills with golden aspen trees shivering in the breeze, a red-tailed hawk soaring in slow motion over the Flatirons as acoustic guitar plays softly in the background. Well, maybe not just acoustic guitar—let’s throw in some Lumineers for good measure. Because, of course, the soundtrack wouldn’t be complete without a nod to the Boulder indie folk vibes that shaped my early years.
But who would play me? And what kind of plot would we be working with? Let’s dive in. Lights, camera, action—welcome to Miles: The Movie, a semi-serious dramedy about dating, love, and life as messy as a peanut butter sandwich eaten mid-hike.
Opening Credits: Casting the Lead
Finding an actor to play yourself in a biopic is strangely flattering and completely mortifying. You vacillate between “Should I be humble about this?” and “Is it incredibly narcissistic to suggest someone like Adam Driver?” Honestly, Adam has the brooding, introspective mountain-man energy nailed—minus, perhaps, a little of the Boulder tie-dye aesthetic (though I’m sure wardrobe could sort that out).
But if I’m being truly honest, the role would better suit someone like Jason Segel—relatable, slightly goofy, and capable of delivering heartfelt moments without too much fanfare. Watching Jason Segel lug a reusable coffee mug to a disastrous first date feels oddly right. Vulnerable but funny. Earnest yet bumbling. Segel gets it.
The Family Ensemble: Supporting Cast
Here’s where things get tricky. Casting your parents in your movie takes a certain emotional detachment, especially if your mom has called multiple times this week to remind you to wear sunscreen. Just me? Okay.
For my mom, an environmental firecracker with an affinity for brightly-colored scarves and impassioned speeches about recycling, I’d go with Frances McDormand. There's just no substitute for her intensity and humor—you better believe Frances would nail the monologue about why composting more aggressively could “save the bees.”
My dad is easier. He’s got a quiet, outdoorsy gravitas about him, the kind of guy who gets one good zinger in per conversation and then sits back, satisfied. Obviously, Sam Elliott. I mean, the man is outdoor-dad energy personified. Just give him a flannel shirt, a big dog as his sidekick, and a cup of coffee brewed on a campfire, and it’s perfection.
Oh, and for my sibling? Let’s cast Jonah Hill in full Mid90s mode—equal parts sarcastic and endearing, occasionally veering into chaos. Spot-on.
Rom-Com or Coming-of-Age?
This is where things get personal—and juicy. If I had to categorize the genre of my dating life so far, it would probably sit somewhere between a quirky rom-com and a coming-of-age film, peppered with those painfully awkward “learning moments” that make you cringe but somehow grow stronger from.
For starters, there would be a montage of outdoor coffee dates that blur together: reusable mugs clinking over oat milk lattes as my date and I attempt to out-humble each other about which trailhead is the “best-kept secret.” (Spoiler: It’s always Chautauqua.) Cut to me earnestly explaining the plot of some obscure indie film, only to realize my date hasn’t seen it—cue the awkward silence.
Then, there’d be the plot arc where I think I’ve met the one—we’re binge-watching Ken Burns documentaries together, for crying out loud! But like many good movies, the conflict arises when I learn she’s moving back to her small hometown—too far for my Subaru to manage on a regular basis. Cue the rainy-day breakup scene (except it’s Boulder, so it’s actually a snowy day, and I’m standing next to my bike).
Comic Relief Moment: The Terrible Date Montage
What’s a good movie about dating without a little comic relief? There’d have to be a sequence highlighting the hilarity of bad dates—relatable moments that make the audience groan and laugh simultaneously.
Picture this: I go out with someone who seems great—until they reveal their deep disdain for all my favorite NPR shows. Cut to me stiffly stirring my chai while desperately trying to salvage the vibe. Another scene features me on a badly-planned picnic (my bad) where I forgot the bottle opener and tried, unsuccessfully, to MacGyver the wine cork out with a car key (don’t follow my lead here, folks).
The worst one, though? A date who brought up astrology during appetizers and spent the entire meal diagnosing my “commitment issues” based on the fact I’m a Gemini moon. (For the record: I think I’m a patient person, but I’m also not one to sit still while my star chart is used as ammunition for a personality critique.)
The Love Interest: Who Gets Cast Opposite Me?
Every good movie needs a love interest, and let me tell you, this was the hardest part of the story to get just right. How do you screen test for someone who can match your vulnerabilities, weird quirks, and inexplicable need to live walking distance from a co-op grocery store?
Somewhere in the middle of the film, let’s introduce Florence Pugh to the screen, playing the role of the smart, playful woman I just can’t resist. Ruggedly adventurous, she’s the kind of person who could talk mountain weather patterns one minute and recommend a killer IPA the next. She’d outpace me on a trail run but let me ramble on about Terry Tempest Williams without making fun of me. Florence’s character sees my flaws—but instead of judging them, she somehow makes them seem endearing. Who wouldn’t love that?
Scenic Shots: Boulder’s Greatest Hits
No self-respecting film about my life would lack for location porn. We’re talking sweeping drone shots of trailheads at sunrise, the Pearl Street Mall lit with twinkling lights as I sip a cup of tea at an outdoor cafe, and the summer farmer’s market bustling with locals. Let’s toss in an atmospheric camping sequence: boiling coffee in the middle of a remote forest as a bear (off-screen, thankfully) ransacks the cooler because someone (cough me) forgot to use the bear box.
Through all of these moments, the viewer would undeniably see how much of my identity is tied to the landscapes I move through. Whether I’m fumbling through a date or simply journaling by a creek, this connection between love, self-discovery, and nature is woven into the story. It’s the thread that pulls everything together, from the highs to the heartbreaks.
The Feel-Good Ending (No Spoilers, I Promise)
If my life were a movie, I’d end it not with a tidy bow, but with the promise of something more—like every great indie film does. Picture my character sitting on a mountainside with Florence Pugh’s character, looking out over the sprawling scenery as the sun dips behind the peaks. There’s no grand declaration of love or perfectly choreographed kiss, just two people laughing and sharing the moment. Maybe the camera pans up to the stars, and the final Lumineers track twinkles in the background.
The takeaway? Life, love, and connection are rarely perfect, but they’re always worth the effort. And whether you’re casting your own hypothetical biopic or just trying to navigate the messiness of modern relationships, remember this: sometimes the awkwardness, the missteps, and the less-than-perfect moments are exactly what make the story worth telling.
So go ahead, roll your own film—and don’t forget to have fun writing the script. You’re the lead, after all.
