“Oh Mary, let me touch you. Are you real?”
It never fails. Every year on approximately the same night, a few days before Christmas, I come downstairs after putting my beloved minions to bed and it’s on. “It’s A Wonderful Life.” And it’s always at roughly the same part when I tune in. You know the one I’m talking about: The scene where Mister Potter offers George Bailey a boatload of money and George, in no uncertain terms tells him to stick it up his crinkled old you-know-what. He does so despite the fact that he’s not happy… he’s not living the dream that he once envisioned for himself and regaled his then-girlfriend Mary about. Once upon a time…
‘Cause all good stories begin as such, and “It’s A Wonderful Life” is one of the best…
He promised her the moon. Told her that if she wanted it, he’d lasso it out of the sky for her. But he never did. He got older… got married and had a couple of kids… moved into a drafty old house with barely two pennies to rub together and spent his life helping others. Despite it all… despite his family and the immense amount of respect his hometown of Bedford Falls has for him, he finds himself on a bridge on Christmas Eve planning to end it all. In a fit of depression, he wishes that he’d never been born, and guess what? He gets to see what the world might’ve been like without him in it thanks to the help of a heavenly body named Clarence whose just trying to earn his damn wings for the umpteenth time.
Y’all know the rest. George realizes how important he is to the people that care about him and the world and he takes it all back. He “awakens” on the same bridge and everything has returned to normal. Cue the music, him running back into town through the snow and arriving at his house, embracing his family and discovering that he has impacted every, and I mean EVERY life in Bedford Falls. And as his littlest minion “Zuzu” tells him that her “teacher says every time a bell rings and angel gets their wings,” the tears that I have been shedding for the last 10 minutes redouble and I start bawling. Not just tearing up, guys and gals: Sobbing like a pre-pubescent kid who just watched “Old Yeller” for the first time. It’s been that way every year for as long as I can remember and it remains that way now, even at the ripe old (young) age of 38. Few movies impact me the way “It’s A Wonderful Life” does. I never understood why…
I’m sorry I’ve been “away” for a while. I’ve been busy… damned busy. Back on December 3rd I started a new job–the same one I referenced in my last blog post–and I’ve been knee-deep in learning not just it, but the industry, as well. I’ve been meeting new people and helping people find jobs. Writing has been somewhat of an afterthought for the first time in a long time. It’s not that I’ve given up… I haven’t. But as my good friend and eminent sage of wisdom Kim “Don’t Call Me Kimmy” said a few nights ago, “you’re allowed to focus on other things, Frank. Writing will be there when you’re ready for it and it’s ready for you, again.”
I believe her, and I believe that. Sh*t, here I am, aren’t I? Blogging again after a month of not doing so. It really is like riding a bike. But this little piece of modern Mental Flatulence isn’t about writing. Not directly, at least. It’s about “It’s A Wonderful Life,” and about the realization that I came to roughly five minutes before I started typing. That realization? That I am more like George Bailey than I ever considered before. The kinship I feel with Capra’s tale? It’s a symptom of similarity, i.e. certain aspects of my life seem culled from the pages of the script.
Consider: I grew up a dreamer. I still am, though I consider myself more of a conservative one this unseasonably warm and foggy night in late December of 2013. When I met my then-Pharmacy Intern turned girlfriend turned wife Nicole Gentile I was filled with youthful spit and vinegar. “You’ll see,” I told her, “one day, I’ll make a living as writer and you’ll never have to work again.” Twelve years later and I’m still working an “odd” job, i.e. not writing for a living and Nicole is working 40 plus hours a week as a PIC (Pharmacist in Charge) at CVS/Pharmacy. I live in a drafty, pseudo-old house and have two “Zuzu’s” of my own. I’ve never ended up on a bridge, or anywhere for that matter contemplating ending it. And I never will. But am I happy? Have I lasso’d the moon? Or am I, like George Bailey, merely accepting this life that I live as incontrovertible, i.e. wearing a winky emoticon and a smiley face but bawling my eyes out inside?
I think, in the immortal words of another cinematic icon, Forrest Gump that “it’s a little of both, happening at the same time.” Spoiler alert, friends: I’m NOT always the living and breathing facsimile of a smiley face. But then again, who is? May he or she who is cast the first aspersion upon me (I’d appreciate them not throwing stones if at all possible). I have my problems just like everyone else from my beloved wife to you do. But I don’t need an under-qualified angel to come’on down from heaven and show me what the world would be like without me. I don’t care to know. ‘Cause I’m here. For 38 years I’ve always been here, impacting lives and feeling the impact of others upon me and mine. And I hope to be here for a long time.
Life is full of ups and downs, guys and gals. Not every day “is gonna’ be the best day of [your] life (thanks, American Authors).” There are going to be good ones and bad ones and the key to surviving? To not falling into the raging river of despair that flows beneath the proverbial bridge of existence? It’s to always retain hope. To hold onto your dreams and strive toward them, regardless of whether or not you will actually achieve them before the cold, dark embrace of Night with a capital “N” enfolds you. Sh*t really does happen… eight thousand dollars (symbolic dollars, of course; kind of like ethereal Monopoly money) occasionally DOES disappear. But it is in those times of seemingly insatiable despair where you, like George Bailey, look up and see all the smiling faces of the people you’ve impacted in your life staring back at you. They begin to sing “Auld Lang Syne” in perfect harmony as you hold your youngest minion close to your chest and your oldest sings songs from the “Frozen” soundtrack. Behind you, a bell rings and your youngest grunts the equivalent of “every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings.” And as your tears begin to fall you turn to her, and you look her in her big, brown eyes and say…
“That’s right. That’s right.”
Have a very Merry Christmas, every one. And a Happy New Year to boot. Now if you’ll excuse me, George Bailey is about to “awaken.” Cue me, sobbing like a baby.