Do whatever makes defying gravity feel personal
heeding advice from a green witch and going to grad school for English Literature
Embarrassed, I attempted to regulate my breathing in the darkened theater, as tears dripped down my reddened cheeks. We were two minutes into Jonathan Chu’s rendition of Wicked… I am a lover of both the performing arts and cinema, but I’m not a musical theater nerd in the slightest. I myself was befuddled at my tears. It took me nearly all three hours of the movie to understand the central reason for my disproportionate reaction to a film to which I had seemingly no relation.
The first time I heard Defying Gravity, I was in high school. But, even in my teen years, I knew there was something special about the musicality, the notes, and the lyrics of the song. That track was the only thing I knew about the movie before me. As I watched Cynthia Erivo master the song on a screen which seemed to stretch my entire (pur)view, I realized: Defying Gravity feels intensely personal. I cried during Wicked because I knew Defying Gravity was on its way, and I knew it was going to mean something far more profound to me, listening to it this time around.
Earlier this year, I decided to take my interest in literature more seriously. I was getting frustrated at the thought of working a corporate job I not only found boring and dismal, but one which I increasingly believed promoted harm in the world (or at least turned a blind eye towards it). For quite some time, I attempted to discount the queasy feeling I got in my gut when working for X company as youthful naiveté, a sign of a privileged, green university student (like Elphaba…) with no “real world” experience, who still “stupidly” believed in “delusions of grandeur.” I tried to convince myself that my own instincts were wrong and invalid. “This [moral ambiguity?] is just how the world works.” That may be true, but why did that mean it was okay for me to adopt the same wishy-washy morality? Whether because of faith or arrogance, I have always attempted to hold myself to a higher standard. Now I think, perhaps, the grit of the world forces, impresses itself upon an individual in the form of a suppressed feeling of (in)justice, sanding down one’s sense of good and bad until we all become numb and complacent.
The tremor in the line “something has changed within me… I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game” mirrored itself in my own life, as I became increasingly angry at whoever instilled the message within me that I must abide by a value system, a corporate career trajectory which, I felt, demanded me to dull my own sense of ethics.
Sometime in the past few months, I realized something deeply insidious about the withering nature of money: in our enterprise-driven society, money is one of, if not the, most effective means of control. Paychecks, bonuses, benefits, these are means of keeping people, highly intelligent people (some of my smartest classmates), immobile, in check, under control. As I became conscientious of the money-based value system in which I found myself, I thought about all the sins I was ready to commit for a paycheck that could not only afford me nice things but which I could wave around in competition with my peers.
“I don’t want it. I can’t want it anymore.”
What did it mean when I saw paychecks, fancy titles, meaningless credentials as markers of success? I had fallen for a trap, as the levers of control plugged into me, wielded by employers who appropriated my intellect, my youth, my potential, for their own means. These firms baited me, through my own superficial desire for power, status, whatever, into my own entrapment, using me to barrel towards some end that is sometimes in direct opposition to my own values or is other times utterly obscured from my view altogether. Yet, I also bear significant responsibility, and I’m ashamed to say, they succeeded. I wanted their glittering future.
In truth, I did not have the strength to walk away of my own volition; I had to be redirected through failure, and how deeply grateful I am for that redirection. I am embarrassed to admit this weakness, to say that, a few months ago, if they’d let me, I would’ve taken the job that is so against my “values.” How committed to these “values” am I, if a paycheck is enough to sway me? When I was rejected from a corporate position, I was forced to confront my own “supposed” values with a newfound soberness. The rejection encouraged me to find my footing in an alternate part of my identity, which I’d previously tried to silence.
For years now, English class, whispered a different reality to that of the business school, to that of the private schools I’d attended, to that of my upbringing. With the corporate voice finally quiet, I could hear the literature with more clarity, with more humility, and with more consideration. The deep-rooted suspicions I had about corporate America, which I so desperately tried to trivialize in my own head, tried to disassociate from myself, so I could participate and reap its exorbitant material benefits without accountability, seemed to prove true in the essays I read for class. These truths often shook and then deflated my ambitions. I began to suspect that I was the problem. English Literature called me on my bullshit.
Now I see; it is deeply disquieting, the notion that morality is less important (less practical, less adult) than profit. Implicit in this idea is the dangerous concept that I, at age twenty-two, might give up on pursuing righteousness, without even trying. Like it’s somehow supercilious to “realize” or “see” that pursuing ideals of goodness are “delusions” [of grandeur]. Seeing righteousness as naive is not a sign of “mature thought,” rather, it’s a self-serving, placating reason which falsely validates complacency. To suppress one’s own moral compass is to admit that doing good in this world is obsolete, unachievable, and silly. I was on the precipice of making this concession. But, if it truly turns out that doing good is impossible, let that be a final conclusion, not a starting assumption.
Young people, college students, we should ride the university high, which imbues so many of us with a fervor to do good and chase “change” in earnest. We should only weigh the possibility of giving up when an equal and opposite force is thrown in our pathway. So, when Erivo sings: “Some things I cannot change, but until I try I’ll never know” in a movie set on a college campus, I, a graduating senior, felt my own commitment to following passion, to promoting good, flare alongside the swell of her voice. Elphaba reflected back to me an image of the kind of person like whom I aspire to be.
Now, while I still believe it is important to understand the rules of someone else’s game, I do not believe one must agree with or abide by those rules. The only way out is to take a leap of faith, what Stephen Schwartz, the song’s composer, describes as “defying gravity.” In my case, this leap of faith took the shape of something, which might seem minuscule to many: applying for English Literature graduate programs.
“So if you care to find me
Look to the western sky
As someone told me lately, "Everyone deserves the chance to fly"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free”
As soon as I committed to pursuing English Literature, a new layer of fertile soil was spread before me, and I felt different dreams, more inherent, more natural dreams sprout in my mind. More and more, I became comfortable identifying myself with my bookshelf, as I solidified the notion that, in the library, with my writing, others might know where to find me. It was like I’d slipped back into my own skin, stretching my fingers and toes, as I settled back into myself after years of attempting to divert my identity, remold my personality, my interests, my beliefs towards industries which I thought would be more “useful,” without accounting for the intangible qualms I might have with this very “usefulness.”
From high school to college, I’ve chastised myself for my love of reading, internalizing external messages that reading and writing were “worthless” because they “wouldn’t make me any money” (both assertions with which I now take issue). I would stop myself repeatedly from pursuing English each time in an attempt to “be practical.” But, now I see that part of this “practicality” involves, at least for me, trading in my values for money. Moreover, as I considered my next step after college, I realized that not studying literature would become one of my greatest regrets in life. When I finally committed to applying for graduate programs, I felt free. I know no one among my peers who is pursuing graduate school right after graduation, let alone a degree in English Literature. I certainly felt like I was “flying solo,” constantly doubting myself and my decision. But, soon, I found solace in my professors, not unlike Elphaba in Chu’s imagination of Wicked. Through long chats in Office Hours, where my professors graciously gifted me their time, I realized that I am not flying solo at all. I am very grateful for my professors, as well as all the teachers who’ve encouraged my interest in literature even against, unbeknownst to them, my own internal skepticism.
For Glinda, the status quo of Oz served her spectacularly, giving her popularity and success (it’s why Glinda could never forsake it). But, for Elphaba, she was freeing herself from a status quo which never served her. Yet, beyond creating a new order in her favor, in Defying Gravity, is the idea that one might be brave enough to look for alternate ways of life which feel more honest.
I acknowledge that I write with the ignorance of someone who has never read or seen the show in its original form, as a book or on Broadway. So, to all those who know Wicked far better than I, feel free to correct me where I might have gone astray. I also acknowledge that I write with the general ignorance of a twenty-something-year-old (I will, maybe inaccurately, blame my cheesy placement of song lyrics on my youth, as well…). I hope both types of ignorance do not detract from the ideas of ethics and freedom, which I’ve attempted to extract from the song and refract through my own life. Although I have not consumed Wicked in any other context, the power of its message struck me with full force in that movie theater. I imagine that, although certainly a far different medium, my reaction is not an unfamiliar one to lovers of the Broadway performance. My ignorance of the plot also means that I do not know how the story ends. I’m curious how the ending might change my understanding of the song I’ve so excitedly applied to myself in this essay. I’m curious if I will cry for other reasons, when I eventually watch the film’s second half.
For now, this is what I heard in Defying Gravity:
We are all held back, or rather held in place, for one reason or another. Defying Gravity asks us to both discover and then pursue whatever will give us a sense of unmatched freedom, purpose, and confidence, without fear of or care for judgment. Elphaba, or Jon Chu, or Gregory Maguire, or Cynthia Erivo asks us to feel reinvigorated with a profound sense of service, promoting righteousness, even at the cost of being judged, ridiculed, and here’s a tough one —misunderstood. At the core of Defying Gravity is this message: people may not always recognize or understand your actions, but if they are grounded in an unshakeable commitment to service and righteousness, do not fear false accusations. In Wicked, I heard a green witch give the following command: in this year, do something which makes Defying Gravity feel intimately personal.
