I hadn’t even heard of the plot of Groundhog Day when I decided to watch it a decade ago. I remember sprawling on the couch after a long day at work. My girlfriend was already sound asleep in the next room. That year, her drinking was gradually getting worse, but we both seemed to just brush it aside. Most evenings, I found myself alone, so I played the movie as background noise.
At first, I found it intriguing to watch Bill Murray’s character caught in a time loop. However, about twenty minutes in, a sense of dread started creeping in. I can still recall the sight of his white alarm clock ringing, signaling the start of the same day over again, and feeling a terrifying jolt of realization. It was almost like seeing my own life being projected on the screen.
Honestly, even Murray’s bizarre existence seemed better than mine. Sure, he’s a TV reporter stuck covering the same local festival indefinitely, but here I was juggling four jobs just to scrape by. Mornings were spent at the factory for six hours, then in the evenings, I worked as a painter’s assistant. On weekends, I taught music and picked up occasional gigs. Since my girlfriend wasn’t contributing, I had to handle all the bills, and the weight of that responsibility felt crushing.
I kept telling myself she would eventually quit drinking, convinced this phase would pass, but it only escalated. I convinced myself that staying with her was the easier choice, but honestly, it was quite the opposite. Arguments were a regular occurrence.
A few weeks before watching Groundhog Day, my girlfriend casually remarked, “I could live in this flat forever.” That hit me hard, but I couldn’t articulate why. The thought of being stuck that way with her forever was unbearable, yet I didn’t have the courage to express it, not to her or even to myself. So I pushed down my anxiety and fell into a harsh cycle of waking and sleeping.
In the days following my viewing of Groundhog Day, I accomplished more than I had in the past three years combined. I quit those four jobs and ended things with my girlfriend. Using nearly all my savings, I covered the rent for our apartment and then moved out.
For about five weeks, I didn’t do much of anything. I was just rushing from one thing to another, trying to not think too deeply about my life. I found myself staring blankly at walls, wrestling with what I wanted next. Initially, it was terrifying; my thoughts were racing. I confronted all those existential questions I had been avoiding. Gradually, though, I began to feel a bit more at ease. When my funds dwindled, I found a job as a caterer, trying to keep my hours manageable. Cooking can be hectic, but every day is unpredictably different.
I haven’t rewatched Groundhog Day since. Now, I’m in a new relationship and am significantly happier with my job. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that the reason I avoid rewatching it is a fear of seeing my current life mirrored back at me.
Did cultural moments inspire you to make significant changes in your life? Email Cultural.awakening@theguardian.com
