I love to go to a movie, get a Diet Coke and a barrel of popcorn

When William Shatner said, “I love to go to a movie, get a Diet Coke and a barrel of popcorn, and sit there with my kids and watch a film,” he spoke not merely of entertainment, but of the quiet, sacred joy of presence. His words, light and unassuming, hold a truth that echoes through the corridors of time: that the simplest moments, shared with those we love, often carry the deepest meaning. In the image of a father, seated in the dark beside his children, laughing and feeling together, there lives the essence of what the ancients called eudaimonia — the flourishing of the soul through harmony, love, and simple pleasure.

Though Shatner’s setting is modern — the glowing screen, the scent of popcorn, the fizz of Diet Coke — the heart of his sentiment is ancient. For even in ages past, humanity sought gathering, storytelling, and shared wonder. The Greeks had their amphitheaters; the Romans, their grand spectacles. Families and friends sat side by side as tales of heroes and gods unfolded before them, not for distraction, but for connection — to feel part of something larger than themselves. When Shatner enters a theater with his children, he partakes in that timeless ritual: the human longing to witness stories together, to be moved and united by emotion.

At the core of his statement lies an even greater wisdom — that joy need not be complicated. In a world that often glorifies ambition and the chase for greatness, he reminds us that happiness lives quietly in the ordinary. The sweetness of popcorn, the familiar chill of Diet Coke, the laughter of one’s children — these are not trivial indulgences but sacred symbols of contentment. The wise among the ancients would have recognized this truth well. The philosopher Epicurus taught that pleasure, when pure and modest, is a virtue, not a vice. “Do not spoil what you have,” he wrote, “by desiring what you have not.” Shatner’s joy is born of that same philosophy — the art of cherishing what is already within reach.

There is also something profoundly human in his imagery — the act of sitting together in darkness to watch light flicker before one’s eyes. It mirrors the primal gatherings of our ancestors around the fire, where stories were told, and wisdom passed down. In the theater, the modern fire glows upon the screen, and we, too, gather to dream, to learn, to feel. Shatner’s ritual of the movies with his children is not merely recreation; it is communion — a bonding of generations through shared imagination. In such moments, the walls between parent and child dissolve, and all are simply human, sharing wonder and laughter beneath the same light.

Consider the tale of Cincinnatus, the Roman farmer called to lead his people in crisis. He returned from war victorious, only to lay down his sword and return to his plow, choosing the simplicity of family and field over power. His greatness was not in his conquest, but in his humility — his understanding that fulfillment lies not in what we achieve, but in what we love. So too does Shatner’s joy spring not from his fame or his work, but from a quiet evening with his children, popcorn in hand, hearts aligned in shared delight. The true wealth of life is measured not by crowns or titles, but by the warmth of those we sit beside in our fleeting hours.

There is also a lesson in gratitude within his words. To find happiness in the ordinary is to be awake to the present. Many chase distant goals, never pausing to taste the sweetness of now. Shatner reminds us that meaning can be found in the smallest rituals — the familiar crunch of popcorn, the dim hum of anticipation before the film begins, the sound of a child’s laughter beside you. These are the jewels of existence that, when collected, form the true treasure of a well-lived life. To be present in such moments is to honor time itself — for it is in these simple joys that life reveals its fullness.

Let this, then, be the lesson: seek not always the grand adventure or the perfect moment, but learn to see the sacred in the simple. Whether through a film, a meal, or a quiet walk, cherish the rituals that bring you together with those you love. Take joy in the laughter of your family, in the comfort of small pleasures, in the peace of shared silence. For these are the anchors that steady the soul amid life’s endless motion.

Thus, as William Shatner teaches through his humble delight, happiness is not found in the vastness of the stars, nor in the chase of glory — though he, the captain of the Enterprise, once sailed among them. It is found here, on Earth, in the glow of a movie screen, in the laughter of children, and in the quiet gratitude of a heart content to simply be. To live well, then, is not to seek greatness alone, but to savor the beauty of the ordinary — for in those moments, one touches eternity.