Note: This post contains spoilers for the movie (and short story by Stephen King): The Life of Chuck. If you don’t want to be spoiled, then please skip this post until you’ve watched the movie or read the story.

Last weekend, I took a trip out of town. I live in a little one-horse town where there’s nothing to do, so anytime you want a change of pace, you have to leave. Sometimes I go to the next town over, which is about a half-hour away. And sometimes, when I’m feeling more adventurous, I head to a much bigger town about an hour and a half out.

This was one of those days when I chose the latter. I like this town because it’s bigger than my little crap town, but not so big that it’s overwhelming or unsafe. It’s clean, easy to get around, and—most importantly—it has an Alamo Drafthouse, one of my favorite places to see a movie.

On this particular day, I had a full itinerary: eat at a restaurant I can’t get back home, hike somewhere within the city limits, catch a movie at the Drafthouse, and, if time allowed, swing by Starbucks to crank out an article (this one, in case you were wondering).

The movie I chose ended up being a last-minute decision. I had just done a Mission Impossible rewatch marathon over the past few weeks and planned to see The Final Reckoning a second time while the series was still fresh in my head.

But when I got there and checked the movie times, I saw that another theater in town was showing The Life of Chuck. Somehow, this one had flown under my radar, but after seeing the cast and watching the trailer, I was intrigued enough to change my plans.

And I’m so glad I did.

It’s such a simple premise, yet it might be my favorite movie of the year. Based on a short story by Stephen King, it carries his signature quirkiness throughout. Honestly, this is where King shines—not with horror, but with these offbeat, thought-provoking stories that are just eccentric enough to be memorable. Think The Green Mile, Hearts in Atlantis, Shawshank Redemption, 11/22/63, etc.

If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. But only if you’re not expecting a high-octane action flick. This is a slow burn, and the performances are top-notch. Mark Hamill, in particular, steals the show, but Mia Sara and Tom Hiddleston are fantastic as well. And shoutout to Nick Offerman as the narrator—who wouldn’t want Ron Swanson narrating their life?

Now, the reason I’m writing this post is because of one scene in particular. While it isn’t the central plot point, it’s the lynchpin of the entire movie. The film moves backward through a three-act structure. Act 3 reminded me of Seeking a Friend for the End of the World. Act 1 is a coming-of-age story about Chuck as a kid (where Hamill really shines).

But Act 2 is simply “the dance.”

It’s the scene featured in the trailer: a woman sets up her drum set on a city street, hoping for tips. Her day isn’t going great—she’s only earned a quarter, flicked her way by some guy on a bike.

Then Chuck shows up.

Something in him makes him stop, put down his briefcase, and start dancing—right there in the middle of the street. Not only that, he pulls in a passing woman (who had just broken up with her boyfriend), and the two of them dance like no one’s watching.

It’s such a simple scene, yet it works perfectly. A crowd gathers. The drummer ends up making serious bank in tips. And after the dance, the three of them—Chuck, the woman, and the drummer—sit down to talk about the moment they’ve just shared. The act ends with Chuck walking away, past the spot where he danced, and pausing as the narrator delivers a line that’s quoted at the beginning of this post.

That quote has stuck with me ever since. Every once in a while, someone says something so simple yet profound that it imprints on your memory. This was one of those times.

“This is why God made the world.”

Simple. Profound. Thought-provoking.

The reason this line works so well is because it captures something essential about the human experience—at least in the context of the film. What makes this scene even more beautiful is that, in the previous act, we learn the world is ending because Chuck is dying.

That moment of dance might have been the last great moment of his life.

Amid all the darkness and chaos, there are these flashes of connection—these rare, defining moments that change us, that we look back on with a mix of nostalgia and awe. And maybe those are the moments God made us for.

And I don’t say that as a religious person (because I’m not). I say it as someone who’s had his share of suffering—physical, mental, emotional. And I say it with the awareness that, even as a privileged American, there are people all over the world who’ve had it worse.

But in the middle of all that suffering, we still get those moments of joy. Tiny blips of light that remind us it’s all worth it. Shared experiences where the stars align just right and the universe lets something beautiful happen. That’s what I believe life is really about.

There’s so much more I could say about purpose—philosophically, psychologically, whatever—and maybe I will in another post. But today, I just want to impress this one thought on you:

The simplest, truest meaning of life is in those shared moments where we shed our suffering and create something beautiful together.

So if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, always choose to dance.

Feeling nervous about talking to that girl?
This is why God made the world.
Invited to a cookout by the water?
This is why God made the world.
Have the chance to help a stranger?
This is why God made the world.

You can always return to the noise, the struggle, the heartbreak. Life will be waiting for you with its deadlines and disappointments. But if you’re lucky—if you’re really lucky—you’ll catch one of those rare, fleeting moments that remind you what all of it is for. A moment that doesn’t need to be explained or analyzed, because you feel it in your chest.

That’s your sign.

That’s the universe whispering:
This is it. This is the reason. This is why God made the world.

So don’t just stand there. Don’t overthink it. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

Drop the briefcase. Step into the street.
And dance like the world was made for that moment—
because maybe it was.