The Millions

Maybe It Doesn’t Have to Be All or Nothing: Appreciating ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’

During my first year in New York, I learned that an old theater, not far from my apartment, showed It’s a Wonderful Life at Christmastime. I was new to the city, still acclimating to its competing layers of freedom and constriction. I craved the familiar. I missed my mom. I had grown up watching George Bailey, and some of my friends had too. We purchased tickets in advance and made a night out of it.

For me the movie was steeped in ritual. In one of my earliest memories, I’m laying in a heap of pillows at my aunt’s house, sipping hot chocolate, surrounded by a pack of cousins. It’s snowing out, an early snow, the same fat flakes that blanket Bedford Falls at

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