I Think I Changed My Mind About It's a Wonderful Life

Did this classic movie age well?

One of my mother’s cats jumped on my lap as soon as I’d pulled the quilt over my body on the couch. I aimed the remote and chose the black and white version of It’s a Wonderful Life, my holiday must-see. I cozied into the covers, eager for one of my favorite traditions, a relatively simple one to accomplish when so many others have been scattered to the sky like stars.

But I was squirmy within a few scenes. At the point where George Bailey is helping Uncle Billy search for the money he lost, I got up and retrieved the large bowl of chex mix and a coke. This was an odd move. I don’t drink sugar soda; I limit my caffeine; I don’t pause films unless it’s absolutely necessary; I don’t wait until the last minute to check essentials off my list; I don’t critique my favorite Christmas movie.

Things are different this year.

When the end credits rolled I was irritated, not satisfied; unsettled and antsy, the way I knew I’d be all day. We’d done our family holiday celebration the day before and this would be a long and lazy day, full of puzzles and handy projects and cousin time. As soon as the last present was opened last night I’d felt my social battery switch off as sure as a light switch, and by this morning, my nerves fizzed like wet electricity over the coughing relatives, old church references, fundie influences, and my general misfit in my extended family. Parts of me fit in well; much of me does not.

Usually, most years, I appreciate how much I relate to George Bailey—his profound disappointment and frustration, the “last straw” build up as he makes his way to the bridge, and his journey to gratitude for the goodness in his life. My life has taken enough of a similar trajectory that an annual viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life feels like a holiday pilgrimage.

Jacksonville is my Bedford Falls.

Obligation became my Building and Loan.

High control religion is my Mr. Potter. Evangelicicsm and their pursuit of making America a Christian bubble is my Pottersville.

I’ve enabled a few “Uncle Billy’s.” Martyred my desires and dreams for the good of whomever said they needed my resources more. I’ve had more than one bridge moment, more than one “I wish I’d never been born,” and lots and lots of happy rushes home remembering how grateful I am for the goodness in my life, terrified over what would happen if I ever really wished it all away. It’s a Wonderful Life reminds me alls well that ends well, and that even if you’re having a hard time, life is good and it’s going to be okay.

This weird gap day was my chance to tether to a tradition; something I didn’t think needed to change. I’ve spent the last 365 days as nomad on the move, writing, walking, and processing major life changes in every category: home, relationships, work, motherhood. More has changed this year than has not and I craved a reminder life will be okay.

When the final scene closed, I stood in my pajamas at 3 in the afternoon, jittery on sugar soda and snack mix, social battery on sputtering on fumes, pacing the driveway, replaying the scenes in my mind, and deconstructing a movie I thought I loved. I didn’t want to relate to George anymore.