I’ve been spending some time in the world of Middle-Earth
recently what with the second Hobbit movie coming out and all. Each time I dive
into the world I see more beautiful things that Tolkien made and that Peter Jackson
is doing as good a job representing as could be hoped for. This time, though, I
saw more about me than about the world.
For starters, I realized I married a dwarf. Reading the book
that features so many dwarves and seeing them depicted on the big screen really
brings that fact to bear. Jonathan is a dwarf, through and through. He’s solid,
a bit rough around the edges, has an awesome beard, likes his beer, is stupid
fast over short distances and spends his days crafting lovely things with
intensity, focus and precision. A dwarf.
There was a time that I wanted to be an elf. I would be
intellectual, would devote my life to the study of history and the great deeds
of old. I would shut myself up with my books and with people like me and we
would sing the old songs.
Some time passed and I wanted to be a human, but not just
any human. I wanted to be one of the great humans doing great deeds like Eowyn
or Beren. They did mighty things and took part in some of the earth shattering
events in history. In my own small way, that would be me.
I take it as a sign of maturity that lately I have wanted to
be a hobbit. And not one of those hobbits setting out on adventures. Adventures
are fine and good, but I would be Rosie, warm and comfortable, someone you
would be happy to come home to.
Being a hobbit seems like a perfectly lovely life goal and,
what’s more, it feels achievable. Perhaps you’ll have to stop by sometime, eat
a meal and let me know how I’m doing.
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