I wish I was Elizabeth Bennet...or do I?

“Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.” ~ Elizabeth Bennet
“What do we live for, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?” ~ Mr. Bennet

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            Occasionally, while giving rapt attention to a conversation that is utterly engaging, and not at all allowing my mind to wander, I have been guilty of something terrible. I have been guilty of finding the person I am conversing with to be amusing, when they were being perfectly serious, or perhaps short-sighted, as they propound some shallow belief that is clearly a regurgitation of something someone else said. Other times, I have been having a conversation with someone and I have been overwhelmed with amusement at their idiocy. It is truly terrible, I know, and I acknowledge it here, on this blog, to my utmost shame.
            It isn’t fair to laugh at people when they are being serious, or to assume that you know if they believe what they are telling you they so fervently believe. Whenever this happens, I always wish that I was Elizabeth Bennet. She would keep a straight face and kindly encourage the person to continue making a fool of themselves. And she would have no guilt laughing about it later.
            Of late, I find that I cannot in good conscience encourage people to make fools of themselves. I am happy to tell you that I have recently reformed from this sort of behavior. There is a very particular reason why, which I am going to share with you.
            Foibles and weaknesses. This is what I used to amuse myself with. I enjoyed them as though I was above them, and that was the problem. I should not live my life as though I am above everyone else. That is so Darcy-ish and no one will like me if I act that way.
            I have tried to reason that as long as I don’t amuse myself with seeing through my friend’s follies and oddities and whatever else strikes me as funny, as long as I stick with people I don’t know, it is okay because no one will be hurt or offended. But there is no way to escape how judgmental that is, and being judgmental of people I don’t know is even worse because I don’t know any of their story.
            I know this, and yet there is still a big part of me that wants to provoke the Mr. Collinses of the world into defending their ridiculous ideas and then laugh at them in my sleeve. There is a part of me that wants to walk the room with the Miss Bingleys because they are so absurdly sure of themselves and puffed up and yet I know they won’t get the boy.
            But I keep coming back to one question: Who am I in this version of life? Am I Elizabeth Bennet, who is so proud to be above everyone’s petty weaknesses that she almost misses out on the love of a lifetime? Am I Mr. Darcy, who is so prejudiced against certain types of people that he misses out on good-natured friends? Am I Mr. Bennet, who is so content to observe that he becomes nothing more than a slightly entertained alcoholic who no longer truly participates in his own life? Is being any of these characters really any better than being a Mr. Collins or are people provoking me into giving a lecture on eccentricities in others while they chuckle to themselves about my own weakness?

Waxing Philosophical

I was innocently browsing the web and stumbled across a blog, the writer of which was “waxing philosophical” and forgetting to come back down to the rest of us on earth.

I was mildly amused by it. Then, I saw it on the side bar of the website. A large white poster, with black words all over it, some of them bigger and some of them smaller, which I think is supposed to help you sort out what the main idea is. This poster was clearly a child of that “I Hope You Dance” song, because it listed all sorts of creeds that you ought to live by and reminded you that you were going to die soon.

Those are great and inspirational and all that and I felt my right brain taking off on the wings of the emotion that this homily offered, but thankfully the practical side of me intervened almost at once.

Let’s examine these words of wisdom more critically, beginning with the first statement “Do what you love.” This is a fine sentiment, and one that I partially believe in. But let’s be reasonable. If you tell the wrong high school student to do what they love, they will stay at home and eat Hot Cheetos in bed until 2 p.m. In Office Space, when the main character is asked what he would do if he had a million dollars, he responds, “Nothing. I would do absolutely nothing.” So we run in to an issue with this inspirational statement right away. We obviously can't have the whole world sitting around doing nothing.

But I don’t want to be nit picky, so let’s move on to the next suggestion: “If you don’t love your job, quit.”

I have particular experience with this one. I had a job that sucked the soul out of my life and could potentially have destroyed the good things in my life if I had let it. So I decided to do some research on my options and I went back to school and got a part time job (that I also didn’t love) until I got through school and could do what I loved. But I got lucky and only had to do this once. Some people do this so many times that they can hardly get a paycheck in their account before they are on to the next career. This means they are very poor, which is fine, but being poor interferes with another inspirational command on this same poster, which is: “Travel often.” I don’t think they mean go on free walks, so you need some kind of money, and if you quit your job because you don’t love it, then you obviously can’t travel. And then you are back at square one, and your life is unfulfilling because you can’t complete this checklist that you were given. And your right brain plummets back to earth.

By the time I was done reading the poster, I was just plain frustrated.

 I was frustrated because I have known many people who seem to live in the realm of the hypothetical, to walk on rainbows and float through clouds, and their advice is as ethereal as their moods. It all sounds great until you weed through it to find the actual meaning and then you discover that you have been given nothing of substance. That is the problem with this – and all similar – posters.  That is the problem with living your life in the realm of the hypothetical, of losing hold of the practical.

               

Spouting philosophical proverbs does not make you wise, following them certainly doesn’t either, and being able to inspire yourself with vague words about vague attitudes you should hold and impractical actions you should take is not only not difficult, it is unimpressive. What is impressive are the people who inspire you, not with their vain words and their platitudes, but with their life. When you look at a person and are inspired by their actions, their love, their approach to living – that is true inspiration, and your aim-for-moon-dance-like-no-one-is-watching cliches can be damned.

Put THAT on a poster.

The discovery of “just right.”

          Goldilocks always seemed weird to me. She went around trying out bowls and beds, always looking for the one that felt “just right.” It is an awkward story and kind of boring. But I now have a strange connection with this yellow-haired little girl. I have discovered the power of “just right.” Let’s start with the books. I have been reading and reading and reading and reading and the result is that I have discovered new authors and new worlds; there is one author in particular that satisfies my craving for fantasy perfectly. She has created the perfect fantastical world. It is strange enough that it is new and exciting, yet familiar enough that I can relate to it. The world is not weighed down by having to explain extraordinarily odd social customs or machines or governments. There are kings, but there are also monsters. There are common folk, but there are also humans who have been given specific skills and talents that make them different from the rest. In short, this author has created my ideal fantasy world. It is just right.

This was a good discovery, but was more like the bowls of porridge than the beds. It was a small victory. The big victory is the music: Ra Ra Riot. I just started listening to their CD The Orchard and I was captivated by it. The stringed instruments satisfied my craving for the unusual and the beautiful, the lyrics were sincere and, most importantly, clever and the vocals were absolutely exactly how I like it. Not too odd, not too nasally, not too low, not too high. Just. Right. Sometimes as I listened to them I wondered how they could be everything that I loved, how they could be so perfect for me. Exactly what I loved, resonating with everything inside of me. It was like someone had designed a band just for me – unlike Goldilocks, who just took things that had been designed specifically for other people.

I know I will grow and change and soon what was “just right” will become “too something” and I will move on – hopefully to another just right. Because the truth is that you grow and that just-right bed will become too small for you. But for now I am incredibly content, folded in the comfort of a perfect fit.

A dragon among dragons.

This morning I want to be in a book, curled up on my couch, lost in the woods somewhere. I don’t know why I continue to always prefer books over reality, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s not that I don’t love my life, I do. It is a life filled with blessings, loving friends and family, a fulfilling job. Yet right now, as I sit and prepare myself for my day, all I can think is “do I have enough time to finish a chapter of The Near Witch?” 

Lately my love of books has focused on the fantasy genre, specifically young adult fantasy (the good kind, no vampires please). And as much as the literary snob in me would love to say that I exclusively read Hemingway and Faulkner, that is simply not true. In fact, I have to be in a fairly academic mood to devote myself to those kind of books. 

Only recently did I realize why. 

It began with Mr. Green-something. I think it was Mr. Greenberg. He was a teacher I observed while I was getting certified to teach. We were talking about literature and he said, “I don’t care how well it’s written, I only care if it’s a good story. If it isn’t a good story, I don’t even waste my time with it.” At first the English major inside of me rose up with great offense at such a statement, but then
I got to thinking that the fact of the matter was that most famous stories were not really good stories. 

I couldn’t pinpoint why until I read this:
 

"Oddities only strike ordinary people.  Oddities do not strike odd people.  This is why ordinary people have a much more exciting time; while odd people are always complaining of the dullness of life. This is also why the new novels die so quickly, and why the old fairy tales endure for ever.  The old fairy tale makes the hero a normal human boy; it is his adventures that are startling;

they startle him because he is normal.  But in the modern psychological novel the hero is abnormal; the centre is not central. Hence the fiercest adventures fail to affect him adequately, and the book is monotonous.  You can make a story out of a hero among dragons; but not out of a dragon among dragons.  The fairy tale discusses what a sane man will do in a mad world.  The sober realistic novel of to-day discusses what an essential lunatic will do in a dull world."

GK Chesterton

Suddenly it all made sense. This is exactly why I love fantasy and fairy tales. The stories about lunatics in a dull world are not good stories. They function more like a visit to a therapist. The reader becomes the normal person in the equation, the oddities the characters and there is no connection, or if there is, the reader is mainly disturbed to find that he has a connection with such an abnormal character. Then the reader feels HE needs to go visit HIS therapist and the relaxation and pleasure derived from reading is lost.

 I am self-reflective enough as it is, I don’t need a Hemingway character to help me out with that.

Besides, why would I want to read a book about broken, messed up humans? Why would I want to read about broken homes, broken hearts, broken lives – with no resolution of this brokenness, only more brokenness? Why would I want to read about a dragon among dragons, when all I see when I come up for air out my book are people like me – treasure-hoarding, lonely people, with a thick hide toughened over long years of withstanding brutal attacks. I want to read about someone I want to be like, about heroes and the villains they face. And yes, that can be trite, but it can also be beautiful. These stories have lasted this long for a reason.

All of these realizations helped me feel more comfortable pulling all those old fantasy books off my shelf and even discovering some new ones. It also made me realize that I will always love fantasy books and fairy tales. There is a truth in them and a connection to real life that is sometimes missing from the books that try harder to make that connection. They make you feel like you can do anything. They make you realize that good DOES win over evil, even though at a high price. They make you trust in the good – not in people – but in our Creator. And they help you take your own dull, reality filled world a little bit less seriously.

Chapter the First

It is common for books to start with what English teachers and authors (and maybe a few of those people who know the proper word for everything) refer to as exposition. Exposition is a very fancy word for getting to know the characters and the setting of a book.

This is my exposition.

I am an incredibly private person. I rarely even post on Facebook, let alone share my innermost thoughts. So, you might rightly inquire, why in the name of all that is good, would you ever bother starting a blog?

The first response is I don't know. But that is not completely true, because I have been  thinking a lot about writing lately and why we do it and what it is for. I have discovered that part of what makes writing so joyful and fulfilling is sharing it with others and I have been keeping it to myself for too long. As I frequently tell my students, writing is for communication, but I am currently using writing as a way to communicate with only the "unregarded river" of my life, which is important, but limited.

The other response is I am curious. I want to see what will happen if I start a blog. I do not have any kind of expectations, such as possibly becoming one of those bloggers whose blog turns into a book and then their life is one long string of meetings in New York and writing on an old typewriter in front of a window from  which it appears to be perpetually Fall. I am just curious. I want to know the answer to the question, what if I started a blog? Maybe the answer will be nothing. Maybe the answer will be something wonderful. But I am going for it either way.

Tennessee Williams once said, "Make voyages. Attempt them. There is nothing else."

This is my voyage. Welcome aboard.