March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings

Posted by Elizabeth

As I’ve mentioned before, Anne and I share a deep and abiding love of movies and books, not only for their entertainment value but for their teaching value.  There is nothing more satisfying than a story that captures the human experience and helps me to better understand myself and the world around me.  In fact, as Anne aptly pointed out a few months ago, sometimes fiction does an even better job than nonfiction in relaying the slings and arrows of personhood.   I have been dying to see Alice in Wonderland since I learned that Johnny Depp and Tim Burton were once again joining twisted forces, if nothing else than for what promised to be a stunning visual panorama.  What I didn’t expect was the variety of life in pencil lessons that Linda Woolverton’s excellent script offered up.

Life is a process of learning to become yourself

The film begins with a fanciful and unsure 19 year-old Alice about to become married off to a stodgy aristocrat.  After falling down the rabbit hole at her engagement party and landing in Wonderland, it soon becomes clear that her arrival is much-anticipated:  she’s been brought here to sleigh the Jabberwocky and end the Red Queen’s villainous rule.  But first, there is some question as to whether she’s the “right” Alice for the job.  To clear up any confusion, she’s brought to the wise and Buddha-like Blue Caterpillar.

Blue Caterpillar: Who are you?
Alice: I’m Alice.
Blue Caterpillar: You’re hardly Alice

As the film progresses, Alice – who at first is confident she’s not the “right” Alice – slowly becomes convinced that perhaps she is the right Alice.  When she meets the caterpillar again towards the end of the film, the Caterpillar asks her once again:

Blue Caterpillar: Who are you?
Alice: I’m not sure.
Blue Caterpillar: How can I help you, silly girl, if you don’t even know who you are?
Alice: You yourself said I’m hardly Alice.
Blue Caterpillar: I said you were ‘hardly Alice.’  You’re much more like Alice than you used to be.

The film is, at its heart, Alice’s journey of becoming Alice.  Through drinking potions and eating cakes she continually grows bigger and smaller until she finds just the right size for her, literally growing into her own skin.  The tentative Alice we meet at the beginning of the film slowly fades away as she gains confidence in herself and her unconventional choices, fully becoming the Alice that everyone in Wonderland has been waiting for.  I think each of us is on a similar journey, as we are faced daily with choices and decisions that bring us further away or into closer contact with our true selves.  Alice does what “feels right” – even if it defies logic – and it’s these decisions that help her to grow into who she is.  We face the same crossroads each day, and in moments of uncertainty and indecision – both big and small – perhaps the question we should ask ourselves is, “Is this bringing closer or further from the person I was born to be?”

Each of us is creating our own path.

As much as there is a person we were born to be, each of us has free agency to create the path towards becoming that person.  Although the role Alice is to play in Wonderland has been prophesied, she creates her own way of going about the journey.  Helping her to deviate from the plan, the watchdog Bayard worriedly remarks to Alice, “I’ve ruined your destined path.”  “No you haven’t,” Alice confidently responds.  “I’m making my path.”    As we begin our journeys, it’s important to remember that there are many roads up the mountain, and we should choose the one that resonates most with us.  As the White Queen reminds Alice, “You can’t spend your life pleasing others.”

The life we’re meant to lead is waiting for us…when the time is right

We’ve all heard the quote “stop living the life you think you should lead and start living the life you were meant to lead” (or something like that).  I’ve always struggled with this credo, perhaps because I find it difficult to believe that it’s as simple as that.  Through the film, we discover that Wonderland has, quite literally, been waiting for Alice her entire life – she even went once, as a girl – but she hadn’t yet grown into herself enough to be able to live that life.  While our lives might be waiting for us, timing is everything.  As someone who is eager to begin new things, I often have to remind myself that perhaps I have some growing to do.  While I wait for new beginnings, I can make small steps towards preparing myself for the starting line, or simply focus on living the best life I have right now.

There are no beginnings and endings, only transformations

Towards the end of the film Alice observes the Blue Caterpillar weaving himself into a silky cocoon.  “You’re dying,” Alice says.  “No I’m not,” responds the Blue Caterpillar.  “I’m transforming.”  Each of us has the opportunity to transform every day, becoming more fully who we are.  We end each day a different person than we began, and each morning offers a chance for a new beginning.  But if life is nothing but a series of transformations, how do we embrace this inevitable series of changes while staying focused in the now?  Don’t the two seem contradictory?  Maybe, but I think some of life’s greatest transformations happen through living in the present.  Sometimes I think about the person I was at the beginning and end of my eight month round-the-world trip:  essentially the same, but different in so many ways.  Never have I lived more in the present moment, and in no period of my life have I transformed more.  Change means becoming a different person; transformation suggests morphing from one version of ourselves slowly over time.  We all have the opportunity to be Blue Caterpillars if we attend mindfully to the stuff of our everyday life.

We live in the now by attending to our real lives

At the end of the film, Alice is faced with the choice to stay in Wonderland or return home to London.  She states with confidence that she must return home, where there are “questions to be answered.”  For years Alice had lived in a suspended dream-state, enchanted with the dream of Wonderland which distracts her from fully living her life in the present.  While her adventures in Wonderland provide a welcome diversion, her real life is calling.

How many of us transport ourselves to other words through TV, internet, cell phones, and Blackberries, thus distracting us from the real lives right before our eyes?  Alternate worlds – be they video games or vacations – are fun for awhile.  But we’re avoiding the inevitable difficulties of our everyday lives that command our attention.  The only way out of Wonderland is through Wonderland, just like the only way out of our difficulties is by trudging through them.  I bet it’s not as daunting as sleighing the Jabberwocky.

Did you see Alice in Wonderland this weekend?  If so, what lessons did you take away from it?  Do you agree or disagree with the “lessons” I’ve cited?

Posted by Anne  

This post is my effort at 1) participation in Valentines Day, and 2) participation in the “Love it Up Challenge” from Momalom—another great blog.  So here you go…a very special love letter, to a very special guy—the gold and bald one.

Maybe Ellen feels the same way?

Dear Oscar,

It’s that time of year, isn’t it?  Your big day arrives not on Valentine’s Day, but a little later…March 7^th.  And yet here I am, eagerly awaiting the moment you take the stage—my love rekindled and my anticipation building for our annual date night.

Oh Oscar, it’s so hard being one little fan amongst infinitely more glamorous women who vie for your affection every spring—women with greater talent, tighter abs, and greater access to Harry Winston jewels.  I know I’ll never hold you in my arms, but rest assured I will continue to admire you from afar…aka, my living room. 

You must know I’ve loved you since I was a child.  I remember when we first met.  The year of Dances With Wolves.  You really liked that movie, didn’t you?  Since then, you’ve fallen in love with so many films.  But me?  I’ve stayed loyal to one awards show…just yours.  Sure, I watch the Golden Globes too, but they’re never the same…I swear!

It’s difficult to name all the reasons I adore you, Oscar.  But I’ll try.  I love how you offer me an escape.  You sweep me off my feet, away from the routine reality of my life, and carry me away to a long red carpet.  I love how you gather people together to appreciate art, even when your ultimate choices baffle me…or anger me.  Yes, I’m still a little bitter about that Forrest Gump year.  I hope you’ve come to realize that The Shawshank Redemption was just superior.  Oh sorry…this is a love letter…

I love how you make me feel like a fashion expert.  I love to sit on my sofa in my decidedly unstylish garb and yell obnoxious phrases like, “Seriously?  She should have REALLY reconsidered that color choice.” Or there’s my personal favorite: “Wow…someone should fire her stylist!”  I know I sound catty and uncharitable in those moments, Oscar.  But I also know that your endless parade of pre-show telecasts wants me to act out in this manner.  You know you like it.

Remember when our love was new, Oscar?  When I’d spend days crafting a menu of classy hors d’oevres, and gather people together to watch the show, then “shush” them every time someone talked during an inconsequential acceptance speech?  You must have known back then how dedicated I am. 

It must be hard to believe I still love you like I did back then—when I printed ballots for everyone, and guessed your winners.  I know I’ve gotten lazy.  But can you blame me?  10 nominees this year?  It’s just so hard to keep up with you, Oscar.  But I admire you for shaking things up.

And yes, sometimes you bore me.  It shouldn’t be that way, but why do you have to let people drone on interminably when a simple “Thank you” would do?  Sometimes I nod away in the middle of your lifetime achievement award, and I’m ever-so-sorry for that.  And these days, I know I don’t make the effort I once did.  My appetizers of goat cheese and delicate slices of prosciutto have given way to pizza and cookies.  And yes, I know it’s hard to believe I still care for you when all I can muster from the closet is a sweatshirt and LL Bean slippers.  But I promise—my love for you will never fade—not like those impossibly old (and possibly disintegrating) pajama bottoms I wear for your big night. 

But please don’t lose patience with me, Oscar.  You are the epitome of the movies.  Of escape.  Of fashion triumph and fashion faux-pas.  I’ll be there to the bitter end this year…even when you hang on til midnight. 

Love always,

Anne

P.S.  I like 3-D.  It’s cool.  But please, oh please, sweet Oscar…no Avatar for Best Picture.  Please. 

Okay, so am I the only freak who looks forward to Oscar night like it’s a national holiday?  Who’s going to win?  And who will end up on the best (and worst) dressed lists? 

Posted by Elizabeth

In case you forgot, today is Groundhog Day, the day when we discover if we’re in for an early spring or doomed to suffer the slings and arrows of a late winter.  I can’t say I’m a huge fan of Groundhog Day, maybe because it reminds me of that insufferable movie circa 1993 starring Andie McDowell and Bill Murray, where a weatherman is doomed to repeat the same day over and over (and over) again, which, as a change-a-holic, is pretty much my worst nightmare.  Truth be told, I never understood what those two things – repeating a day and a traditional rodent – had much to do with one another, but, now that I think of it, Groundhog Day does seem particularly suited to people who appreciate comfortable routine.  I mean, is it me or does Puxatony Phil seem to see his shadow, sending him racing back into his hidey hole, more often than not?

Phil has always struck me as somewhat of a scaredy cat – maybe someone who’s a little afraid of change?  Rather than bravely facing the daylight and the possibility of a new season, he often retreats to the comfort of his warm, safe burrow, prolonging the inevitable.  How many of us are like Phil, clinging to the changing seasons of our life with a death grip, trying our hardest to hang onto the shut-in nature of winter when spring, with its new life and beginnings, is at our doorstep?  How many of us hold onto a season past its prime, rather than face the turn of the calendar with grace?  Given Phil’s propensity for dodging the new season, Groundhog Day seems perfectly crafted for the world’s change-phobes, wanting to hang on to the comfortable, old way just a little bit longer.

This winter has felt especially interminable; I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for a spring in my entire life.  I was delighted to receive a seed catalog in the mail last week whose pages were splashed with colorful photos of heirloom vegetables, the first tender sign of spring.  As someone who is always chomping at the bit for the next new thing, I sincerely hope Phil doesn’t see his shadow.  Although I can’t help but wonder, in my fervent desire to cut winter short and push through to the next season, if I am any better than Phil, who insists on hanging onto winter?  Maybe, rather than preparing to banish or cling to a season, we need a day to remember what’s good about this time of year — even if it’s sometimes hard to see — to remind us to be in the moment?

Are you a fan of Groundhog Day (the movie or the holiday)?  Do you root for Phil for see his shadow or not?  Am I crazy, or does Groundhog Day seem uniquely suited to the world’s change-phobes?

I have to mention – because when else am I going to mention this? – that I have a friend whose mother loves Groundhog Day so much that she throws a party every year.  I have always wondered if she’s able to find Phil-themed paper products.

UPDATE:  Once again, that scaredy cat Phil saw his shadow; six more weeks of winter in 2010 folks.

Today we continue our Holiday Season Extravaganza.  Between now and December 25, we will share what it means to celebrate the holidays — Life in Pencil style.

Posted by Anne

Before

Change.  It’s a core topic here at Life in Pencil. And it just so happens that we’re not the only ones interested in transformation these days.  Change, you see, is also a favorite subject of the holiday season.  Take a look at the evidence, and you’ll see the power of change—it’s everywhere.

Ebeneezer Scrooge: Mean miser becomes charitable and kind…and wears his pajamas in the London streets

The Grinch: Grouchy green creature becomes a softy…and experiences some freaky heart growth

George Bailey: Mr. cranky-pants becomes an appreciative daddy once again…and makes an angel named Clarence very happy

Tim Allen in the Santa Clause: Smart-ass/shoddy father becomes Santa/superdad…and eats a lot of cookies

Frosty the Snowman: Pile of snow becomes human…and takes kiddos on a parade

After

As a culture, we eat these stories up.  After all, most of us are suckers for a good tale of redemption.  And within these stories in particular, there’s something inherently dramatic about the changes our heroes experience.  For one thing, the changes are fast. Scrooge and the Grinch make it happen in just one night.  On top of that, the changes are thorough and complete.  When these guys change, the changes are big. And in every case, change is for the good…mean people become good, greedy people become generous.  (Well, except in Frosty’s case…I imagine he was a nice pile of snow to begin with.)

We (or I?) love these stories because they represent something that’s supposed to happen to us during the holiday season…we’re supposed to become better. Kinder.  And more loving.  And in general, I’ve got nothing against a culturally prescribed season of kindness.  But the sweeping drama of Scrooge and George Bailey?  How realistic are these transformative tales?

I’m sad to say… not very.  I don’t know about you, but in my life, change doesn’t usually come about with the aid of physically visible supernatural spirits.  And when I change, it’s darn hard—I struggle and slip, and make oodles of mistakes.  Yet, when we leave Ebenezer having goose with the Cratchits, we’re left to believe he’ll never feel greed or anger again.  When the Grinch serves up the roast beast, we’re supposed to understand that his heart-growth is permanent.  According to the rules of holiday myth, relapse isn’t part of the story.  And honestly, I’m glad it isn’t.

But the truth is, change is rarely magical.  We try to be better people all the time, and especially during a “season of giving”.  But we stumble.  We complain about annoying relatives, and make uncharitable comments.  And often there’s no ghost to get us moving again.  Just as often as the drama, changes occur in baby steps, small acts of generosity, and faith.  And there’s beauty in the small changes, as well as the big.

Do you try to change over the holidays?  And what holiday tales of redemption did I leave out?

Today we continue our Holiday Season Extravaganza.  Between now and December 25, we will share what it means to celebrate the holidays — Life in Pencil style.

Posted by Anne

Ah, the holidays.  Merriment.  Sugar plums. Jimmy Stewart.  Joy to the World.  And if we’re being honest with ourselves, let’s go ahead and throw in……..the complex amalgamation of nostalgia, sadness, anticipation, and love.  Of course, the holidays can be joyous and celebratory.  But we all know they can be a tad emotionally complicated.  It’s just that we’re told to ignore those inconvenient feelings—tuck them away, and get in the holiday spirit!  Thus, you won’t find your helping of holiday ambivalence in the racks of your neighborhood Hallmark, and certainly not in the latest syrupy sweet Zales commercial.  But if you listen hard, you’ll hear it.  Because it’s playing in the drugstore, the doctor’s office, and the grocery store.  And it’s one of our nation’s most treasured holiday anthems.  Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

Despite its cheery title, the song is anything but.  It’s actually a startlingly accurate description of the inherent sadness and nostalgia that haunts us through the holidays.  Or at least it used to be.  But you wouldn’t know, because the song’s lyrics have morphed through time…constructed to match the emotions we’re supposed to feel…authentic or not.  Let me explain.

From the movie...how bout that dress? And those bangs?

Perhaps you’re already aware of this, but the original version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas was written for the film, Meet Me in St. Louis—incidentally, one of my favorite movies.  In its original context, Judy Garland bursts into this tune after learning that her family must move to another state—leaving behind their friends and home (and her brand-new beau).  She stares out a window, bravely attempting to bolster the resilience of her adorable little sister, while struggling to conceal her own holiday woes.  And here’s what she sings: 

Someday soon we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Yep, that’s right.  Muddle through.  Not exactly a phrase we hear much of throughout the holidays.  And yet, for how many people is this precisely what the holidays require?  As much as we choose to ignore it, the holidays are tough.  We miss people more than we ever did before.  We miss family who live miles and miles away.  There are people who symbolize the holidays to us…people who have passed on, leaving us to silently grieve in the light of a sparkling Christmas tree or shiny Menorah.  We miss them horribly.  But what do we do?  We muddle through. 

But you won’t hear those lyrics anymore.  Why?  Because they were erased—the unpalatable complexity of holiday emotions has been chucked, in favor of a culturally acceptable alternative.  Here are the lyrics you know:

Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

I understand.  To “hang a shining star” sounds a bit more festive than muddling.  And I imagine it’s meant to convey hope.  But when I hear it, I’m afraid it rings false to me.  It feels like a sort of manufactured joy…the kind we’re told to feel every December.  Our culture expects it, and we try to obey.  Perhaps I’m being a downer, but it seems to me that this exchange of lyrics is the quintessential embodiment of our common holiday routine.  Shelve away the difficult, and bring on the happy.  After all, it’s more pleasant for everyone else, if not real. 

I admit…I love the holidays.  Adore them and look forward to them.  I sing carols, trim the tree, worship at church, and bake sugar cookies.  And I wish the same joy for everyone.  But if your holiday is a hard one?  I hope you find the courage to experience the season for everything it is—generous, loving, AND emotionally conflicted.  Go ahead and muddle through…because there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Have you ever had to “muddle through” a holiday season? 

P.S.  Interested in seeing all the old lyrics?  There are actually three versions…check out this fantastic article for more thoughts on the pressure to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. 

Posted by Elizabeth

Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you.

Sounds like something printed on the flimsy strip of paper nestled inside a fortune cookie, doesn’t it?  But it is, in fact, the opening line to The Coen Brothers’ new film A Serious Man. They are also the words that reverberated through my brain as I turned, mouth agape, to Maikael as the credits began to roll, the curtain having closed on the film with a brisk thud.

That’s the end?

I love movies that conclude in a messy manner.  I hate the pretty bow tied neatly around a story.  The movie doesn’t have to end happily – in fact, I’d prefer that it didn’t – but I like to feel a sense of conclusion, a sense that the story has come to a close.  The Coen Brothers never offer me this, striking at the heart of my love/hate relationship with their films, but in this case the cryptic ending serves the purpose of the story.  As we drove home from the theatre discussing the film, a film whose theme dives squarely into the uncertainties of life (and what is Life in Pencil if not an exploration of life’s uncertainties?), the point soon became clear.

Accept the mystery.

Larry Gopnik, the film’s protagonist, a nerdy physics professor and decent human being whose life suddenly falls to shambles for no good reason, finds himself being bribed by one of his students.  Dr. Gopnik tries to return the money to the student, who denies having left it in his office.  Finally the student’s father shows up on his doorstep, threatening to sue him for defamation.  When Dr. Gopnik tries to press Mr. Park for information – “So your son did leave the money?” – he responds simply, “Accept the mystery.”

Accept the mystery.  How wonderful!  How liberating!  How refreshing! And yet, like Larry Gopnik, I do a terrible job of accepting the mystery of life.  I’m not so concerned with what’s going to happen next as I am with understanding why it’s happening in the first place.  Like a good counselor, I turn everything around in my head, squeezing meaning from the most innocent circumstances.  What does it all mean? I ask myself on a nearly daily basis.  The film suggests such analysis is futile, while also illuminating that it’s a pretty human response to want to make meaning of our uncertain lives, our chaotic circumstances.  Still, some of us do a better job than others at shrugging our shoulders and saying, “Who knows?”  At this I fail miserably.  Nothing is simple, and I do my best to make things unnecessarily complicated.  Despite the relative simplicity of my outward life, my interior world often feels like a muddled mess.

The film got me wondering how my life might be different if I could manage to accept, rather than constantly analyze and critique, the mystery that is life.  Studies repeatedly show that we’re happier with less choice – does the same hold true for complexity?  Would I be happier if I could simply accept the mystery?  Am I adding depth and enrichment to my life by searching for complexity, or am I sucking the intrinsic joy out of deceptively simple experiences?  As much as I’d love to be able to accept life at face value, I can’t help but wonder if part of what makes us human is that search for truth amongst the mystery.  Even though we know we’ll likely never find the answer, the search itself seems important.  For who amongst us hasn’t found ourselves in the middle of a giant mess that we don’t know how we got ourselves into, flung our head back towards the heavens, and called out, “Why is this happening to me?”

How easily do you “accept the mystery” or “receive with simplicity everything that happens to you?”  Do you think it’s a reasonable, an even noble, goal?  Or, are we doomed to forever grapple with these questions?