Why Wes Anderson's Most Spiritual Film Still Heals Me
When I was 19, I saw a movie that changed my life.
I’ll never forget the first time I watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. The colors. The stylized sets. The dry, deliberate dialogue. It felt like poetry—odd, funny, melancholic, and strangely raw. I was mesmerized. That film sent me tumbling down a Wes Anderson rabbit hole. But nothing impacted me as deeply as The Darjeeling Limited.
Three estranged brothers. One train across India. A father recently passed. A mother who disappeared into an ashram.
They don’t speak much about the grief that’s driving them forward but you feel it in every awkward silence. In every clumsy prayer. In every attempt to control what can’t be controlled.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was watching something that would live in my bones for decades.
There’s something quietly profound underneath it all…
The Darjeeling Limited isn’t just quirky or beautiful or sad—it’s a mirror for unresolved family dynamics. A map for grief. A sacred spiral of healing disguised as a train ride.
Back then, I saw myself in Peter, played by Adrien Brody—the middle sibling, always on the move, always slightly out of place. Gripping a pair of their late father’s sunglasses like a lifeline. Escaping forward instead of sitting with what hurts.
Through the eldest brother, I recognized the mother in my sister. The planner. The caregiver. The one who packed the bandages while the rest of us bled out quietly.
And now, nearly 20 years later, I return to this film and I see the deeper layers.
Because what once felt like drama, now feels like ceremony. Every stop on that train? A reckoning. Every argument? A cry for connection. Every silence? A prayer. Every loss—especially the sudden death of the young boy in the river—feels like a soul-level wake-up call. A reminder that life is fragile, and healing doesn’t wait for permission.
As Jack says near the end of the film:
"I wonder if the three of us would’ve been friends in real life. Not as brothers, but as people."
That line has always stayed with me.
Would I still be close with my siblings if we hadn’t shared such a tangled past? Maybe not. But maybe that’s not the point.
Healing unfolds in relationship in the ruptures and in the returns.
Life keeps moving—relationships shift, new babies arrive, beloved ones pass, and in between it all, we’re just trying to find each other again. To understand where we came from and what still binds us together.
What memory of love do you return to, even when the world feels heavy?
In the seasons of great transition—losses, births, heartbreaks—we’re offered portals. Invitations to reconnect not only with ourselves but with the ones who were there from the beginning.
Me and my siblings… we couldn’t be more different.
Different cities. Different lives. Different spiritual languages. But beneath it all? We're tethered by something timeless. A shared devotion. A deep, ferocious love.
We didn’t have the easiest childhood—not by any means. But we hugged each other. We said “I love you” every single day. And that means something. It still means something.
I hold on to that.
I carry it into my motherhood. Into the way I show up for my daughters. Into the way I hold my friends when they fall apart. Into the way I touch—gently, with presence, with reverence.
Because touch is medicine. Connection is survival. And love… love is the anchor we come back to, time and time again.
Even when the past feels like a shadow stretching too far. Even when the weight of what we endured feels too much to bear. I remember those I love you’s. The warmth of my brother’s hand. The presence of my sister’s eyes. We had each other when no one else was there. And that made all the difference.
I know I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without them.
So if you’re in a season of change, or estrangement, or longing, let this be your reminder:
Let love guide you.
Let love be your north star, your homecoming, your soft place to land.
Family can be so damn frustrating yet so very beautiful. I never had to wonder if they had my back. It was expected come hell or high water. I’ve learned a great deal about my family and family in general over the past few years. I’ll always be thankful and feel very fortunate for mine.