A sitcom hero’s vital lessons in getting by and making the most of change
As part of my lockdown lifestyle, I’ve been watching series on Netflix while doing the household chores.
I’m currently working my way through the 90s sitcom, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, starring Will Smith as a streetwise teen who is sent to live in a mansion with his wealthy uncle and aunt.
He and his relatives have to learn to adapt to each other, and manage an unusual life in an unusual setting.
Propelled by his mother’s desire to give him a better, safer life, Will is never quite sure how to behave, at first. Will, I can relate.
It’s been comforting to realise that everyone around me has also been jolted into a new environment, and has had no idea what they’re doing.
Having a grip on life is pretty much a 2019 norm. Not having a grip on life is particularly on trend.
One of the things that made the Fresh Prince so refreshing back in 90s sitcom land is that it regularly and unexpectedly broke the “fourth wall”.
As a graduate of excellent high school Drama teachers (Hi Linda, look, I listened!), I can tell you: this is a revolutionary move.
The “fourth wall” is the space that separates actors from their audience. Removing the fourth wall reminds the audience that they’re watching a performance. Moving past the “fourth wall” jolts an audience back into reality.
In 2020, we’ve all had to jump the “fourth wall.” There’s an element of fun to it. There’s an element of surprise to it. Most of all, there’s an element of “holy cow, what is reality, even?”
Between the masks, the pods, the remote office, and the homeschool, there is no normal. Then again, there never was.
And none of the weird measures by which we marked our lives actually mattered. That’s what we’ve learned, over and over again, in 2020.
I’ve watched in amusement as the corporate lifers slipped into their sweatpants. I’ve been living that life for almost a decade, and you’re very welcome in this space.
Bemused by the struggles of people trying to cope with kids and work and doing their own dishes, I have uttered a few sardonic cackles. Look, none of it is easy, but it can be fun.
It’s always been a little isolating to me that I had chosen that way of life, long before anyone else I knew. Almost as if I’d missed a trick, or a lesson, or that I simply didn’t have the right equipment to fit into the corporate life mode.
Flipping the switch to a home-centred life remains one of my best choices. The fruit of that decision has borne even better ideas. My kid finally got her wish of being homeschooled, something she’s begged me to do for years.
I deeply enjoy the tidal wave of noise and chaos that comes from sharing my workspace with someone else. Something I never thought I’d adjust to, and now I cannot understand the quiet that comes with a “No meetings scheduled today.”
We have laughed at each other. We have laughed at ourselves. We have adapted. We have continued to live, better than we thought we would.
As life has revolved and turned, I feel like 2020 has sealed our little habitat that we call Hedgehog House. What started as a wonky, cobbled together idea in a thunderstorm of life has become home.
What once felt like tumbling now feels like moving forward, with momentum.
All of these things we’ve had to confront, surrender, and survive in 2020 have been, oddly, worth it.
It’s like the Fresh Prince says in one episode, recalling his childhood struggle to skate with only one roller-skate: “That’s how I felt when I came to Bel-Air, like everybody had two skates and I was trying to keep up with one. Thanks for my other skate, Uncle Phil.”
2020, you’ve handed me the other skate. Thank you.
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