The Art of Becoming: How Movies Help Us Grow

Sometimes growth begins in places we do not expect. Not after a life changing event, or a dramatic turning point, but during a movie scene that lasts only a few seconds. A moment so small that, if you were distracted, you could miss completely. Yet for those of us, these seconds can stay with us for longer than entire conversations. They settle in quietly, becoming part of how you remember, feel, and reflect. They touch something inside you before you can understand what is happening. And those few seconds, those tiny pieces of art, can become the beginning of who you are slowly becoming. This is how movies have helped me grow, not through dramatic lessons, but through quiet moments that slowly shape who I am becoming.

I have always been someone who is easily moved by movies. It does not take a dramatic plot twist or an internet-famous scene for something to stay with me. Most of the time, it is something small: a look, a sound, a moment when the music rises at just the right time. In those seconds, the world seems to pause, leaving only me and the scene in front of me. What stays is not just the image itself, but the feeling it creates; the lighting, the music, the expression on an actor’s face, all coming together in a way that quietly shapes how I think and feel. These moments may be brief, but they are the ones that linger, forming a connection between the viewer and the film, and slowly influencing the way we understand ourselves.

Personally, these seconds have changed the way I experience myself. They do not arrive as clear realizations, but as feelings that linger and slowly ask for attention. A scene can make me pause, recognize an emotion, or question something I had taken for granted. In that sense, it opens a door, not to answers, but to awareness. I carry these moments with me, and they quietly influence how I think, how I feel, and how closely I listen to my own inner world.

I still remember the first time this happened to me while watching Little Women (2019). It was not just a single scene, but the way the entire film held me from beginning to end. I was mesmerized by how emotion lived in every detail; the lines, the soundtrack, the silences, the restrained intensity of each moment. As I watched, I found myself drawn to the sisters not because they were similar, but because they were so different. Each of them carried her own ambitions, her own dreams, her own way of loving and believing, and none of these paths were treated as less meaningful than the others. As I watched, I began to think about faith in a way I had not consciously reflected on before; the kind of trust that things will unfold as they are meant to, even when the future feels uncertain. That feeling stayed with me. So did the way the film portrayed love: not as a single ending, but as something layered and complex. Being second in one story did not mean being less, but simply being first in someone else’s. And by the time the film closed in on itself, becoming a book within the story, something shifted in me. I did not leave with answers, but with a different way of seeing. I began to think about how we become who we are, and I realized that it doesn't happen through grand victories, but through small, deliberate choices, patience, and faith in our own paths. Little Women did not tell me who to be, but it changed the way I understood love, ambition, and becoming, and I carried that shift with me long after the credits rolled.

What stays with me most is how often these moments are shared, even when they are felt differently. I see it clearly during screenings with Cinémenton. We sit in the same room, watch the same film, and then stay afterward to talk about it. And somehow, the same scenes always come back up… but never for the same reasons. One person remembers a line. Another is stuck on a silence. Someone else can’t stop thinking about a character they recognized themselves in.

And I truly love listening to those conversations. They make me realize how cinema creates a common space without producing a single reaction. We are all watching the same story unfold, yet each of us leaves holding onto something different, something shaped by our own memories, fears, desires, and experiences. In those moments, I understand that what connects us is not agreement, but recognition. The film gives us the same images, but what we carry away from them is deeply personal — and that is what makes the experience feel both shared and intimate at the same time.

This is what makes movies so powerful. They give you space to be vulnerable without judgment. They allow you to sit with your emotions and see them reflected in someone else. They show you that you are not alone in your confusion or your fear or your desire to grow. They stay with you years later, reminding you of who you were and who you are trying to become. Sometimes we do not realize how much they helped us until much later, when we look back and understand why something shifted inside us after a scene that lasted only a few seconds.

Those small scenes matter. Not because they are dramatic or popular, but because they reach the deepest parts of us. They might last only a moment, but they can change everything. They show us the art of becoming. And in their own tender way, they help us become who we are slowly learning to be.

Photo Source: Al Case, flickr