Last night was the Academy Awards.

As a movie huge movie buff with a cousin in the business, Oscar night has always been an exciting and special night for me. I vow every year that I am going to watch all of the films nominated for “Best Picture” and every year I fail.

This year I only managed to squeeze in two: Parasite and Joker. JoJo Rabbit was next in line but I ran out of time and didn’t make it that far. As it turned out, I picked the right two to watch. Joker was amazing (love Joaquin Phoenix) and Parasite was funny and sad and creepy and scary; full of imagery and symbolism with a message that hits hard and stays with you long after the film has ended. Think Bong Joon-ho’s earlier work Snowpiercer, and make it vertical rather than horizontal.

This year, for the first time in a long time, I did not watch the Academy Awards.

Do to my decree we have only one television in our house and it is in my husband’s office. He graciously gave up the remote so I could watch the red carpet arrivals and was fine with me watching the whole production, in my comfy skull leggings, while sipping wine perched in his comfy chair.

Three commercial breaks into the arrivals I decided I was done.

I realized that I recognized only a handful of the people being interviewed.

I realized that although the gowns were stunning, all I could think about was how uncomfortable most of those poor women (and some of the men) must be.

I realized that I am getting older.

I realized that I am probably not as hip and current as I sometimes think I am.

I realized something else.

I realized I really didn’t care.

There was a time I could name every single person on the red carpet. I could tell you who they were, who they were married to, who they had been married to before the person they were with now, who their children were, what movies they had been in, what they were currently nominated for and an assortment of odd trivia learned form perusing the tabloid headlines.

I remember years ago standing in line at the store with my mother when she motioned to the magazine racks and commented that she no longer knew any of the “people” in “People” magazine. I remember thinking how out of touch she was. How sad it was that she was no longer “current.”

I realize now that my mother had it right.

My mother had a full life and a big circle of family and friends.

My mother was busy with what was important to her in her real life. She made time for the people who mattered to her and eschewed the rest.

People who are fulfilled in their own lives don’t have time to worry about the lives of others.

I don’t mean that fulfilled and content people don’t care about others. Of course they do. They just choose not to spend their time engaging in pettiness or worrying themselves with how others choose to live. They don’t give energy to things that don’t matter. All it does is take away real time from real life.

Who wore it better?

Who had plastic surgery??

Who is with a new partner???

Who cares????

What I realized last night as I failed to recognize most of the faces and had to shrug when my husband asked me questions about who was who, when I had to admit that I didn’t know and I really didn’t care, was that while my mother did not recognize the “stars” gazing at her from the trendy covers while she waited to check out on aisle three, she was more in touch with what mattered than most people.

What I realized is that I am finding fulfillment in my real life for the first time in a long time and I don’t need placeholders or escapes in the form of people I don’t really know.

I realized that I don’t need fantasy in the form of glossy magazines or arrivals on red carpet. I don’t need to concern myself with the lives of others (in that way) because I am content in my out of season Halloween leggings, in a town that is not tinsel. I am content to turn off the “make believe” and make dinner because I have arrived. Arrived at a moment where I am happy and fulfilled and content. I have arrived at a moment where my mother was right and she is smiling and welcoming me to the real world.