Margot Robbie says she wasn’t crying over Cara Delevingne in those paparazzi photos. She’s crying over her own dead self, over every decision she ever made, about the way her life came to this.
It’s a cold, hard, unemotional truth. The world is not a fair place to be alive. There are people who are much worse off than you. There are people who are just as happy as you. There are people who did the best they could, and for whom this is a cruel twist of fate. The world does not owe you a life. Nor, to put it another way, doesn’t anyone owe you a life. The entire point of existence is not to get out of the world alive. The point is to get out of the world alive.
If there was ever a moment when it might have been worth living without being a martyr, it was definitely the moment when, in the midst of tragedy, a woman with the power to save her life chose to let her life go. I don’t know if you can put it into words. The thing is, you can’t put it into words. Even the most eloquent of sentences would barely touch the raw pain of that loss. And yet, for an infinitely small percentage of the population, who are always so easily the victims, to be so close to death, and to have the choice to decide whether that death is going to be a life or a death, is an act of immense courage.
This is a person whose life has been built on trying to figure out how to survive, and then struggling to find ways to get out of the world in the first place. She’s survived the most dangerous world on the planet, a world where people are sometimes literally torn apart by wars that could easily take your loved ones. She’s survived being a mother, and trying to figure out ways to give her children everything they need, and always ending up with more for them than they could ever give to her. She’s survived being a professional, working toward the goals she really wants, and then being let go for one reason or another. And now she sits in her apartment looking for the light switch