I just put the latest BBC version of Jane Austen’s Persuasion in my DVD player. I can’t see it, sitting here at my desk blogging, <today’s definition of blogging is “deliberately not working on Mali paper and presentation that is due Wednesday”> because the T.V. faces the other direction, but I can hear it. I’ve seen this movie enough times that it plays quite admirably in my mind’s eye.
Persuasion is my favorite Jane Austen book. Actually that isn’t true. I think Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book, Persuasion is my favorite story. I love Anne Elliott. Whenever buzzfeed or zimbo or whatever useless timesuck has a “Which Jane Austen Heroine are you?” quiz I enthusiastically embark on it. I invariably get Lizzy Bennett. I invariably get surly and grumblecakey. I rarely see myself as Lizzy Bennett. I always see myself as Anne Elliott. I get her.
So. Having already made my favorite soup < today’s definition of made my favorite soup is “deliberately procrastinating writing Mali paper and presentation that is due Wednesday and/or not applying for jobs on line”>.Tonight I sit and listen and blog <see above definition>.
Lest you be concerned that this blog is a simple gush on how beautiful Jane Austen’s prose is, and how amazing Anne Elliott, let your fears be allayed. It is about Anne, but it is darker than that. It is about how “Anne Elliott” is written across my heart right now, and not in a pretty, well-trimmed bonnet kind of way.
Anne puts everyone first. Everyone. She always does what is best for her family, even when they selfishly take advantage of her, and underestimate her worth. As a consequence, they all rely on her sensible nature, her wisdom, and her sacrifice without ever caring for her. Those on the periphery see her worth, but even still she is alone, without a husband, and of a certain age. She is pretty much on a shelf. That never stops her. Still she gives all of herself with abandon where there is need. She had love once, but was persuaded to let it go because it was not suitable. Now she must watch as the man she loves has made a fortune, and is choosing another woman for his wife to be. Anne has to watch while the life she wants is lived around her, excluding her. In her selflessness she doesn’t hold it against people.
Now Anne and I are not the same person. I have no great lost love to lament. My family does take advantage of me. Quite the opposite. I often feel that I am not worthy of the esteem they give me. Yet.
Yet.
The last few months have been difficult for me on so many fronts. You’ve heard me complain and grouse, and I am sure it is quite boring. Blah blah blah, no job, blah, school, blah blah move. There are some things below the surface that I haven’t talked about, because I am like Anne. Because I do not want to lay my disappointment and pain on anyone else. Because maybe, just maybe, I think no one will want to know or care. This is, I grant you, quite a maudlin and self-absorbed perspective.
It’s also because I don’t want to steal from anyone’s joy. I don’t want to air my pettiness, or my frustration, because I don’t want my Anne-ness to rob them of what is rightfully theirs.
Yet.
The whole time, during Persuasion, there is a little part in the back of my mind that wants Anne to have a strop. I want her to throw down and go off on people. I want her to speak her mind and tell people where to get off. I want her to say what is in her heart, so that she can get her man without having to go through such heartache. I just want her to say ‘it’s not fair!’ So maybe I should. Maybe I should go off book, just for a moment, and get it out, and then go back to trying to not be self-absorbed.
It is not surprising, that my aches mimic Anne’s. Just not quite in the same way. But they do have to do with relationships happening all around me. (Even now as I type, the vultures from the Disney Jungle Book echo in my head. “Oh don’t start that again!’ Surely I have moaned about this enough. Sorry if I am being repetitive. You can stop reading now. I won’t hold it against you) I guess the biggest problem is that I carry great grief and terrific joy at the same time and the cognitive dissonance is too great. I just need to speak this. Just once.
My brother is getting married in three weeks. I am so happy for him. He deserves to be loved and to love, and his wife to be is a lovely woman who can hold her own with him, which is great. I, however, feel like instead of gaining a sister, that I am losing a brother. Part of it is the distance, 3000 miles, give or take, makes it difficult to get to know someone well. Part of it is that I used to be the woman in my brother’s life. I was the one he bounced ideas off of. I was the one whose opinion he sought. Rightfully so, that is transferred to his fiance. But I miss him. He gets to transfer the intimacy. I get to hold the loss. It only breeds the fear that if they ever have children, I will be the distant and ethereal one. I’m already facing the very real truth that kids are not in the cards for me, to have the prospect of distant nieces and nephews is just one more wound. One more absence.
At this same time I have two sets of friends in the middle of messy and horrid divorces. I ache for them, because life is hell for them. I know this. I see daily proof. My heart breaks for them. Yet I am so angry. SO. ANGRY. I don’t envy anyone the pain of breakup. But I envy them the chance. I hate that I have watched my friends get married, then the girls I mentored get married, and now even the children of friends are hitting that mark. I have watched all my friends bring children into the world. I have even watched long enough that my friends are getting divorced. And here I sit. Watching. Alone. I do not blame any of them for splitting up. There are valuable reasons. It just kills my heart a little that they get someone, and even get someone else and I am still invisible. Still unloved. Still without.
In all of these situations I feel guilty that I have made any of this about me. It is not me getting married. It is not me struggling with the loss of relationship and life. Yet somehow I have managed to make this about me. I want to throw a strop, beat the ground with my fists and scream “It’s not fair!” until I am hoarse. But I won’t. I am too responsible. I do not want to complicate my friend’s lives. I do not want to cheapen a beautiful moment. Like Anne I have hidden this away, not wanting to place this where it should not be. I just can’t carry this tonight. I just need to lay it down tonight. Tomorrow I will put on my big girl panties, write my paper, apply for jobs, go about preparing for the wedding, being strong for my friends. Tonight I lay aside Anne and be me for a moment.
I hurt. A favorite meal won’t fix it. And a beloved movie won’t make the pain go away.
But now Anne has gotten the news that the man she loves is marrying another. It breaks her heart, but she is hiding her tears for the sake of others. Though she is fictional she reminds me that I am not alone in this. I’ll cry with her, and try to carry her hope into my tomorrow.
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