My favorite scene in It’s A Wonderful Life is the moment where Jimmy Stewart runs pell mell down Main Street, his jacket open, his face cut and bleeding, his feet undoubtedly wet from the slush and the snow, and his voice harsh from the cold as he cries out to each and every passerby, and they back to him. He is giddy with joy, overwhelmed by the heart pounding realization that most of the time, good is good enough. The world, with all its raw imperfections, is ok because he’s in it and he, with all his flaws, is good enough for it.
I am George Bailey; I paint watercolor visions of sweeping adventures, and plan my mark on the world to weigh heavy with its importance. I want to be part of the solution, to help erase inequities, to cure poverty and homelessness and wrap every neglected child in this world up in my arms and make it better. I write letters and donate my time, send money when I can and vote at every opportunity; I also make false starts and say things awkwardly, get depressed when I don’t see results, feel not smart enough and not well connected enough and curse my short attention span and feel that if I were simply and only a better mother, my child might have had a better day at school.
Yet, in the process of getting to know my neighbors, I find myself becoming part of something that’s interconnected and interwoven. In the day-to-day of life, I have had cookies baked for me, and a welcome party thrown for me. My mail’s been brought in when I’ve needed it and my animals fed; I’ve been poured a chilled glass of white and treated to histories as unique as the fingerprints of the tellers. I’ve had my garbage brought streetside when I was out of town and, when I was down with a migraine last winter, was warmed by an outstanding bowl of chili, courtesy of three doors down. For my part, I try to do the same. I have learned that the trick is to pay attention. The concept of neighborliness is just that: to be aware of each other, to take each other as we are, and to sense–and act on that sense–when a moment’s help might be needed. By living this way, we–like George Bailey–can each be the richest men and women in town.
