Contradictory

In the past few years, I've discovered Scratch that, I've always known this.

In sixth grade, we had to write an essay about our personality; I wrote about how I could be rather shy and serious but also passionate and animated. I called it my "Merry" personality, after the hobbit in Lord of the Rings: silly and spirited, yet serious and thoughtful. (Yes, I really wrote about being like a hobbit for a school essay. Sometimes I wonder how I had any friends in middle school.)

I have a contradictory personality. Quiet, loud. Silly, serious. English, math. City, country. Right brain, left brain. Crowds, solitude. Music has always been my comforting force of reconciliation, fusing art and math, passion and calculation, loud and soft, ensemble and solo. But I digress...

As I made my way back from Yorkshire to London yesterday, the pull between city and country was considerably prevalent. I adore Haworth. I love the warmth and geniality of the people. The beautifully wild and rugged landscape. The openness. The quiet. The slow pace. The air.

But as soon as my train pulled into King's Cross St. Pancras, I felt a shiver of anticipation for the bustle and anonymity of the city. Deftly zig-zagging through the multitude of fellow travelers on my way to the Piccadilly line, I felt a rush of sheer joy. I had loved every minute in Yorkshire, but I was so happy to be back in London. I love the hurry and the rush. The glass and the brick and the stone and asphalt. The cigarette smoke and car emissions. The busses and taxis and motorcycles and bikes. The old and the new. The noise. The crowd. Even the don't-make-eye-contact-don't-even-smile rule on the tube.

These thoughts brought to mind two separate book/film scenes. The first, a passage from Jane Eyre:

"'Pass, Janet,' said he, making room for me to cross the stile: 'go up home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold.'
All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmy. An impulse held me fast -- a force turned me round. I said -- or something in me said for me, and in spite of me -
'Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home -- my only home.'"

While I don't necessarily have a "to you," the phrase "I am strangely glad to get back again" was turning round my head all afternoon. Perhaps my "to you" was London. Or just cities in general. When I return to Seattle after spending time in Marysville, I feel similarly.

The second thought was my favorite scene from the film adaptation of The Hours.

Though I love and connect with this scene for many different reasons, for our purposes, the important line is: "...the violent jolt of the Capitol, that is my choice." For me, the country isn't a "suffocating anesthetic" but there is something completely wonderful about "the violent jolt" of city life. 

Just some reflection. Hopefully a peek at my interiority hasn't bored you too much.

~L