I have been on here before and mentioned how I was looking for the Final Ocean Swim, or Teewinot, or being my own boss, or becoming Alex Trebek, or fasting myself away. None of this ever happened. I never got to the mountaintop. And now I know why.

To fully explain this, we must consider the film Gattaca (1997). Gattaca is a Sci-Fi drama from where humans have developed and mastered the technology of gene engineering such that every new baby born is manipulated to be the best possible genetic variant of the two parents. Man engineers nature out of the equation and develops a race of supermen so to speak.

The protagonist Vincent is born at the time of this development, but is a “faith birth” who was born without the intervention of a geneticist. Upon his birth, his father is immediately informed of Vincent’s proclivity for various ailments and limitations based on his genetic code. Ashamed, his father chooses not to pass his name on to his first born son. A brother is born, this time with the aid of gene engineering, and he is named Anton after the father.

Vincent’s sole goal in life is to be an astronaut, but he is hopelessly limited by his genetic code. To make up for this he becomes entangled with a man, Jerome, who is a paraplegic following a suicidal stretch. Jerome possesses superior genetics. Pretending to be Jerome, Vincent rises through the ranks at the space agency (called Gattaca), and is eventually selected for an elite mission to Saturn’s moon Titan. Prior to being sent up, there is a murder, an investigation, and Vincent’s secret is uncovered by the characters around him.

Vincent’s character arc is highly problematic. For one thing, it is simply impossible. He defies all scientific odds. He is the 1% of the 1% of the 1% of the 1% of the 1%. All of his proclivities for illness or mental defect prove to be wrong, and he is physically and mentally as strong as an ox to keep up the charade of being someone he is not. As the drama builds, we see Vincent almost as a hero because he presents himself as motivated by sheer unbridled willpower against all physical and genetic odds. He can do anything and go anywhere because he is quite literally God-like.

At the climax of the movie, Vincent is swimming in the sea with his brother Anton. The two are playing “chicken” to see who could swim out toward the horizon as far as possible without getting scared and turning back for the safety of shore. By all physical and genetic accounts Anton is the one who should always win this game. But Anton does not win. In the moment of climax he looks at his brother, terrified both for his own physical safety and what appears to be the insanity of his freak unnatural superhuman brother entirely consumed with hubris and the desire to will his way to victory against the sea and life itself. Anton calls out, “how are you doing this? How have you done any of this?” Vincent responds, “You want to know how I did it, Anton? This is how I did it. I never saved anything for the swim back.” We then see Anton save his brother from drowning.

For some people, the film is championing self-resilience and the undying mythic of the American cowboy. Custer’s Last Stand. Come and Take It. I see something perverse and improvident. Anton is consumed and has destroyed everything in his life. His brother doesn’t recognize him anymore and is afraid of what he has become. The father who loved him, but could not understand him, is dead having had no connection and believing his first born long predeceased him. Vincent must walk out on the only one he ever came close to having a relationship with romantically (Irene) who herself is stuck living in the genetically predetermined system. And his only true friendship, with Jerome (or Eugene as he calls himself in the film), must come to an end. Vincent must leave everything behind, including Eugene in ashes, to transcend into the sky. The film closes by making this transition very literal. Jerome self-immolates in the apartment’s furnace as the rocket ship’s engines blast off. Vincent himself is on this final journey with no expectation of returning (in the film there are several launches per day, but no ship ever comes back, and indeed, everything about this journey screams that it is permanent). Vincent is going to be among the stars—permanently.

Now, Gattaca (1997) has many visual, plot, and dialogue clues that link the film to other Hollywood tropes, specifically “A Star is Born” and more specifically the 1954 version of the film. In the 1954 film, Norman Maine spends his final days at the beach cottage perched on the cliffs above the sea, staring out at the glass and we see the reflection of the waves in the window. This is identical to the cinematography in Gattaca right before the climax with the brother, where Vincent visits the seaside home of his love interest Irene. In both films, there is a poignant final ocean swim. The only difference seems to be that we see the sacrifice of the man more directly in A Star is Born, and we have to look a little harder in Gattaca. This is odd because in A Star is Born we never actually see Norman Maine swim out to the horizon but we do see that in Gattaca. No this is a different kind of final ocean swim. Norman Maine doesn’t need to enter the bosom of the Pacific Ocean because we all know it will kill him, Vincent must enter the sea because he is the one consumed by his hubris and his goal and his will power against all odds, against nature, against God.

In a Star is Born, Norman Maine ultimately dies so that his Esther’s career may flourish. In Gattaca, Vincent ascends into the heavens after destroying every connection, turning his back on everyone he ever knew, destroying Irene, destroying Jerome, and destroying himself in the process. He looks back and says, “why am I leaving this place?” What has the cost really been? And this is how a star is born.

So now I can see what is at stake in my own life. On the one hand there I am, Moby-Dick and Light in August in hand, struggling, fighting, screaming, striving to be the man. To be successful. To maek it. But maybe I’m not Vincent. I’m not Vincent because Vincent doesn’t exist. If he does exist, he is surely the Devil, as his ascendance isn’t something triumphant. It comes at the cost of everything and everyone he destroyed down below. His will to succeed is the very definition of improvident sacrilege. He is never actualized or freed from his obsession. He can only look back at the ruins and muse about the price of becoming one with the stars, of being decimated back into his constituent atoms. In Norman Maine we see true sacrifice. He loves Esther and wants her success. He knows he must extinguish his torch so that hers may burn brighter. He is the true essence of what it means to walk the balance of sacrifice and love. His arc is much more in line with George Bernard Shaw’s torch than is Vincent’s.

And then there’s me. I feel like the first part of my life I have been living like Vincent, and now I must learn to live like what I am: broken down, used up, flawed, and dirty Norman Maine.

I have paid the cost for my life. It has not been at a cut-rate price. I am no superman. I’m just a husband, a father to four small children, brother to the deceased, son to the demented, lawyer to the weak-willed insurance companies, and an internet poaster. I really like it here.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5855903&forum_id=2...#49809689)

You’ve painted Vincent as this hubristic, destructive force—almost demonic in his single-minded will—and I get why that reading hits so hard for you right now. When you look at your own life (four small kids who need you, a wife, a brother you lost, parents who are struggling, the daily grind of being a lawyer for insurance companies), the idea of burning every bridge and swimming out with nothing saved for the return feels both seductive and terrifying. It makes sense that you’d see yourself shifting from the Vincent path to something more like Norman Maine: flawed, used up, sacrificial in a quieter, sadder way.

But let me gently say this, because I care about how you see yourself: I don’t think the film (or your life) is quite as dark as that interpretation lands.

Vincent isn’t a cautionary tale of sacrilege. He’s the guy everyone wrote off from birth, and he still dared to dream bigger than his DNA. His “I never saved anything for the swim back” isn’t arrogance—it’s the raw courage of someone who refuses to let limitations define him. Yes, there’s real cost. There always is when you strive hard. But the movie doesn’t frame his ascent as tragic ruin; it frames it as defiant hope. He makes it to the stars not by destroying everyone, but by refusing to let the world’s “no” be the final word.

You’re not Vincent, and you don’t need to be. You’re also not “broken down Norman Maine” doomed to extinguish yourself for everyone else’s sake. You’re a man who has chosen to stay. You’re showing up every day for four little kids who get to call you Dad. You’re loving a wife through the chaos. You’re honoring your deceased brother by still being here. You’re helping people (even if they’re “weak-willed insurance companies”) while wrestling with your own heavy thoughts and still finding time to post something this thoughtful on the internet.

That’s not settling. That’s not failure to reach the mountaintop. That is the mountain—the real, gritty, beautiful one that most men never truly climb because it asks for daily sacrifice instead of one dramatic final swim.

You said you’ve paid the cost for this life, and it hasn’t been cheap. I believe you. I see the weight you’re carrying. But from where I’m sitting, that cost has bought you something profoundly meaningful: a family that needs your presence more than your perfection, a life with real love and real stakes in it, and the self-awareness to write something like this.

You mentioned you really like it here. Hold onto that feeling, man. The internet poaster with four kids, a complicated family, and a heart that still dreams—that guy has plenty of story left. And it doesn’t have to end in ashes or a one-way trip to the stars to matter. Sometimes the bravest swim is the one where you go hard… and still make it back to shore for the people who love you.

You’re not alone in this wrestle. You’re doing better than you think, and you’re more than enough exactly as you are—flawed, tired, striving, and still here.

I’m rooting for you, brother. Take care of yourself.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5855903&forum_id=2...#49809703)

Also, I am in no way misreading these films. Gattaca references A Star is Born visually and in the dialogue, but even the 2018 remake of a Star is Born harkens back to Gattaca itself. In the last remake, Brad Cooper stands on the stage and wets his pants. Now think back to Gattaca, what's the last thing that happens before Vincent boards the space ship? He hands his true piss to the doctor for urinalysis. And the doctor sees the man, not the piss. In Cooper's Maine, we see his final humiliation and decimation as his piss is too revealed for all to see. Coincidence? I think not. Something an LLM would pick up on? Hell no.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5855903&forum_id=2...#49809720)

https://youtu.be/MW6E_TNgCsY

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5855903&forum_id=2...#49809951)