Big Things
"...nobody ever brings anything small into a bar."
— Elwood P. Dowd, Harvey, 1950
There are new year's resolutions, and then there is intention. A friend asked me yesterday what my word would be for 2019. Just one word. I enjoyed the question and thought about it for the rest of the day. I've never liked the idea of new year resolutions, as like most of us, I've made them only to break them a few days or weeks later. But intention, well, we can't really break that. We can stray, but then we can just as easily stray back. An intention is a guiding star, an angel perhaps, calling us back to our true path. I spent the afternoon thinking about which word would guide me, but I didn't know, so I let it go trusting that if I couldn't find the word it would eventually find me.
So, with Rayna out for the evening I jumped into the stream of domestic life, cooked dinner, fed the children, read stories, sang songs, settled them both in bed, and cleaned up the creative mess accumulated throughout the day. Rayna returned and we settled down for the rare occasion of a film night at home.
It is an established Christmas tradition, perhaps more in the USA, but also in the UK, and perhaps around the world, to watch the 1946 James Stewart film It's a Wonderful Life. It's a good film, for sure, and seasonal, but whenever I think of James Stewart I am drawn back to Harvey, perhaps one of my all-time favorite films, and one I hadn't seen for a couple of decades, at least. So we dispensed with tradition and watched that instead. I had a sense my 2019 word would emerge from that story. Only connect.
In case you haven't seen the film, Harvey is an imaginary 6' 3½" white rabbit, the close friend and constant companion of Elwood P. Dowd, played by James Stewart. One of the things Harvey can do is stop time, and allow his friends to go anywhere, and be with anyone, for as long as they want, and then return home to find no time has passed at all. But when Mr Dowd is asked if he'd used this power he replies that he couldn't imagine where he'd go, and says "I always have a wonderful time, wherever I am, whoever I'm with."
This is the childlike quality of Elwood P. Dowd, living exactly in the moment. It is this quality, more than the insanity of having an imaginary friend that unnerves those around him—unnerves, yes, but also draws those same people in. We're not used to adults having such a beautiful acceptance of the here and now, it is both something to fear and something to desire. It's a wonderful moment in the film, and I was tempted to think that my word for 2019, should be Now or Here. But there is another moment in the film that speaks to me even more directly, even more poignantly. It is partially quoted above, but here is the full speech, Elwood's explanation of why he has no time to dance any longer, and his response to the question, "what do you do?".
"Harvey and I have things to do... we sit in the bars... have a drink or two... and play the juke box. Very soon the faces of the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say: 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're all right, all right.' Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We came as strangers - soon we have friends. They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. When they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back."
This scene creates a longing in me—not to sit in a bar! That would be entirely inappropriate for someone with my history ;) No, the longing is to be the person able to draw out the "the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do", to be able to listen, and hear, with that level of love and acceptance, that degree of non-judgment, that depth of love.
But to actualise that longing I have a lot of work to do. To embrace the big in other people I must myself grow bigger. My life choices throughout 2018 have made my world small, and self-centered. I became selfish, and even as I emerge from those depths I find I focus on trivia—someone is wrong on the internet! I have a ridiculous need to correct perceived inaccuracies, and set social media strangers straight. I rush my children because I value promptness over love, because I value myself and the impression I make over the joy of living in the moment. I criticise my wife for all the things I am guilty of myself: control, coercion, not listening, rushing to solutions rather than embracing the truth of the moment. I say I want to do things and I don't do them. I live in a state of urgency and forget what's important, what really matters.
So there's my word to guide me in 2019: Big. It's a small word, with a wealth of meaning. Seeking Big doesn't mean that small things don't matter. Indeed it may be that by making my world altogether bigger that the small things within that world become the most important. Big isn't about size or grandiosity, it is about value, or perhaps spirit. In truth I don't know what it means, or will come to mean. But that's okay. I have the next 365 days to figure it out.
—
December News
This past month was relatively quiet and contained. I spent a few days in London for work, and the rest of the month home in Sheffield, preparing for and then celebrating Christmas. After Christmas I took a trip to Guildford and Teddington with Asrai and Zoë to visit friends and family, while Rayna had a well-deserved break, home alone.
Tomorrow, the first day of the year, is my birthday. I'll be 60. I remember ten years ago, turning 50 and thinking, well, that's only just over half my life gone by; I've essentially got the whole thing to live over again. And I did quite a lot of living in those first ten years: resided in three different countries, and six different cities, visited many more across Europe, South America and the USA, divorced, became estranged from my sons, created a tangle of relationships, untangled the mess, fell in love, remarried, welcomed two daughters into the world, reconciled with my sons, lived amongst Mormons, fell apart (not because of the Mormons, they were lovely, I did that all by myself), went to drug and alcohol rehab three times, survived that, experienced blindness, almost died of periorbital cellulitis, survived that too, became an orphan, bought a house, took a stand, lost old friends, made new ones, grew a beard, became a herbivore. Quite a happening decade, I guess.
So, into January we go, and into 2019, the year that could never hope to be anything more than a prelude to the much grander 2020. But who knows, it may surprise us all! Enjoy the remainder of this mild, tame winter.
Tobias
31st December 2018, 11.59 pm