Asphyxiating

Over the Christmas holidays I remember reading an article about a writer my age who remembers when he first saw the classic film, and some say clichéd chestnut, It’s A Wonderful Life. This guy was a high school student at the time, so we were both in the 1980s (about the same exact time I first viewed this film), and his teacher made his English class watch this film by a real-live movie projector (ever feel like a stone-age Fred Flintstone??). Besides the setting in which this forty-something writer first viewed the film, I remember clearly a great way he described the film as a “terrifying, asphyxiating story.” Wow—what a poetic, and powerful way to describe Jimmy Stewart’s life in Bedford Falls. What I loved about this guy’s assessment of the film is that he steered clear of the much more clichéd reaction to the film as a sappy, happy, saccharine story. The guy summed up poor George Bailey’s life as asphyxiating. What a fantastic image!

In the last week I have had some George-Bailey moments of my own. No—I have not sauntered over to a bridge by the Dead Sea and thought of jumping in—no, but there have been so many mundane moments in my life in this last week that have made me feel smothered—asphyxiated—and about as angry as George. And it’s angry and asphyxiated by the stupid things, the things you depend on to go smoothly, so you can deal with the really “difficult things.”

Like—okay, when you teach adolescents, you prepare yourself for all the quirks and travails and the beautifully frustrating-evolving adolescents. Yes. And they are great. My students could hardly be more exciting and thrilling to teach. Classes are beyond fine. Dorm life is swingin’ and keeping me from being bored and lonely (as my family feared before I came in 2007).

But it’s the little things that are driving me crazy—and that writer really chose a great word—feeling asphyxiated! I am talking about cars, and phones, and printers, and wireless access, and schedules. Clarence had better stop me!

You regular blog readers will remember that I had a car here in Jordan—for three weeks. A young colleague wrecked the car. The car was brand new and fully insured. That was in October. It is now January. I don’t know anything about when a car is coming back in my life. And I have a guest in town, so we are hitching/begging rides, or just staying on campus. How can that be? Yes, a little, what? Not verklemt, but asphyxiated!

Then the telephones. Regular blog readers might also remember that my Jordanian cell phone was stolen on my way to a weekend jaunt to Egypt. That was on November 20. Last week I begged the office on campus in charge of phones that I required a cell phone since I was on duty with the boarders over the weekend. I really needed a phone in case of emergencies. A couple of hours before my duty began I got a phone. I quickly learned someone had forgotten to take the “block” off of my phone number so I could actually make outgoing calls or send texts. And those empowered people were gone for the weekend. I could receive incoming calls again! But in case of any emergencies, I could not call anyone! Okay, no problem—I will use our new landlines. And then I learn you can’t call cell phones from the landlines anymore. And you can’t make outgoing, i.e. off-campus calls from them either. Since I am the Senior-Officer-in Charge for the weekend, I devise a plan in case I need to call anyone—I will knock down a student and steal his or her phone. I tell you, it’s more than a little asphyxiating!

We have a new policy with wireless and printing—no non-KA laptops can access the wireless or print. Okay, fine, the school did give me a laptop. I keep it hidden in the closet because I happen to prefer the feel of my older keyboard. But really—am I a security risk? How can I print? Where can I print? I have IT reconfigure my school laptop with the necessary prompts to print in the History Department Office. I go to turn on that laptop to print a test. What do I see? A screen screaming, “SYSTEM ERROR—UNABLE TO CONNECT.” Sing with me everyone—I feel a wee bit asphyxiated!

Okay—you are getting the point. Actually there is another major story-line here, but I think it is worthy of its own blog entry, and I need to deal with the feelings of asphyxiation.

Just like everyone else—either seriously or mockingly, I am looking to President-Elect Barack Obama for some inspiration. Seriously. As a candidate, our next president earned the nickname, “No Drama Obama.” I must admit, with all this whining and a little yelling, I have not recently (if ever) been compared to the concept of “No Drama.” But that idea of keeping a cool head is worthy of emulation. And the combo of politics and theater is pretty rich.

Let’s put it back in perspective—let’s go back to how It’s A Wonderful Life is a calming agent. No wait—remember how mad and frustrated George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) gets?

I mean as George relinquishes his dreams, he doesn’t just tweak Clarence on the cheek, or wink up to him (don’t skip to the end yet—we need to feel his pain!) as a bell dings. George is forced to live trapped with small-minded people, and he becomes so filled with rage that George verbally abuses his children, their teacher and his perfect wife. (As a sidenote, I wonder if more people are watching the film this year because of its prescience on the perils of trusting bankers. Hmmmm…) Remember George’s actions? First he smashes a model bridge he has built. Then, like any parent who loses his temper with his children, he seems genuinely embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He apologizes. And then ... slowly ... he starts getting angry all over again. That writer hit the nail on the head—It’s a Wonderful Life is a terrifying, asphyxiating story.

I don’t have time to relive my life right now, but I decided I would take that combo of politics and theater, yes, and slow down, and remind myself of my favorite moments from the last year in politics and theater, and un-smother myself from my mundane asphyxiation.

It is easy to look back to election night, November 4, 2008, as a memorable evening as an American. There were two speeches, from two genuine American heroes that will long linger in my mind and stir up pride. As John McCain graciously conceded the election, he said humbly, “Whatever our differences, we are fellow Americans. And please believe me when I say, no association has ever meant more to me than that.” That is a classy, moving line.

And then, within the hour, we heard from our new President-Elect: ”If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of democracy, tonight is your answer.”

Another exhilarating moment.

The most exhilarating moment I had in the theater in the last year was seeing the new Broadway show, Billy Elliot. Strangely, it struck me in many ways as had those two simple, and profound speeches on election night. Indeed, the purity of feeling in Billy Elliot surprised me. It possesses an honesty few Broadway shows can match. It pays more attention to the complicated reality of people’s lives—those moments when we feel the tug of asphyxiation—than the escapist fantasies that can be spun from them. Billy Elliot is the son of a coal miner and chances upon ballet one day at the gym where he is being taught (not too willingly) to box. An awakening stirs in his heart when he stretches out a leg and lifts an arm just so, under the tutelage of a curt, chain-smoking, tacky-outfit-wearing ballet teacher. In secret BE returns to ballet class, and the promise of his talent inspires his teacher to seek an audition at the Royal Ballet School in London. A new vision of life’s possibilities takes hold in Billy’s imagination. A new vision!!!! (Could it be from the angel Clarence??) As Billy learns to dance, he opens his eyes to an enthralling future. It revels in the childhood need to dream yourself into a happier place; it revels in the exhilaration of self-discovery and self-determination; it revels in the scary excitement of the moment when you learn to listen to the truth your heart speaks, even if it is not the truth your parents (or you) necessarily are ready to hear.

All of these mundane inconveniences of the last week take me back to Jimmy Stewart’s George Bailey’s rage, rage building as it does throughout the film, perfectly calibrated—and perfectly believable, but when I take in the drama of election night, and the promise of the future for a talented coal miner’s son, I am able to deal with my asphyxiations, and calmly nod. It is indeed—SPOILER ALERT—a wonderful life.