Saturday, May 31, 2014

Looking Back

I cannot remember having heard of Jane Austen before the summer of my grade nine year.  An English teacher mentioned to me that one of her students had read all of Austen's novels before entering high school, which begins in grade ten in Canada.  I felt a twinge that that would never be said of me.  I think my discomfort was less about Austen and more about growing up.  I saw in that moment that with each milestone, I crossed a threshold over which I would not return.  I'm a two-way threshold kind of person.  I never check out of a hotel with out a vague uneasiness about relinquishing my claim to that room and anything I may have left behind.  I want to be able to go back.  Always.  And yet, I feel a little thrill that I can't.  I'll turn thirty-four this year.  These are the only months of my life that I'll spend as a thirty-three year old.  After today, I'll never be thirty-three in May again.  The fact that I'll have to say goodbye to this time lends it a special excitement. 

I've read and loved Austen's six completed novels many times in the nearly twenty years since that summer.  This week, I read Pride and Prejudice again, along with two novels that remind me of it.  I still love her work.  And I still find it deeply linked to a sense of leaving something behind and starting something new. 

 

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