Living Betterly

"I have so much, so much around me that is good. Not everything; I still want more, I probably want more than I could handle; in fact I probably want things that would only make me unhappy if I had the. But even that's okay; that's till part of the contentment.

"If my life was a film, he thought, I'd roll the credits now; fade on this beatific smile in an empty room, the man on a ladder making things better, renovating, improving. Cut. Print. The End.

"Well, he told himself, it isn't a film, laddie. He was filled with a surge of pure joy, simple delight at being where and who he was and knowing the people he did. He threw the paint brush into one corner of the room, jumped off the ladder, and ran through to Andrea." -- Iain Banks, The Bridge.

When I first arrived at home after my sojourn abroad, I felt that life was perfect. My life still feels pretty perfect, and I am quite content (searching for internships is putting a damper on my contentment levels, though), and I thought Iain Banks expressed the idea adequately. Not perfectly; that's something that I'll reserve for myself when I've had enough time away from Mr. Banks' ideas.

P.S. Yes, Jeffershon, I took the conceit for the title from one of your friends. I thought it was pretty brilliant, and brilliant things need to be spread.

Rock 'n Roller Coller Rides

This week has been full of ups and downs; sometimes it seems that even an hour can be full of as many ups and downs as there are waves upon the sea. Thursday I was feeling pretty low because I had a few mishaps with integrating socially; today I feel great because it's been a pretty rocking weekend so far. So on Friday, I pretty much did the same thing I always do - wake up, go to class, go to the library. 

However, in the evening there was a Young Single Adult dance in Glasgow, which I went to. There were fifteen (twenty, actually) of us who piled in four cars and made the hour-long journey across Scotland's waist to Scotland's linty belly button, Glasgow. The dance was lovably awkward in the way that all of the American dances I've ever been to have been awkward. The Jovenes Adultos Solteros dances in Spain were much better, and there were plenty of Latin American men who knew how to dance salsa, meringue, etc. Not so much in Scotland, which is okay. There are and will always be ceilidhs!

What I loved most is that I felt like a part of something, included in the group, a member, which is what I feel I have been missing and what I find hardest to achieve. We stayed out late as a group, went and grabbed McDonalds (they have Rolo McFlurries over here!), I fell asleep in the car on the ride home, and then I made it back to my flat and promptly did my evening rituals and tucked myself into bed.

And today I woke up really early to go to Stirling! Yes, I've already been, but a few friends were going, so I thought I'd tag along. In addition to the Castle (the royal apartments were still closed), we saw the Tolbooth (not that impressive, but has been turned into an intriguing modern art gallery), tried to see Holy Rude kirk (it is spelled poorly and was closed), and the Wallace Monument, all of which I had missed on the first go-around. After dinner and reading for a bit, I went to the Montague and met a few other friends for Halloween. I had my second lemon-and-lime bitters and my first successful bob for apples!

All in all, a successful day. Status: loving Scotland.

The tower is the Wallace Monument, which I climbed.

Cemetery in Stirling.

Great Hall at Stirling Castle

Stirling Castle from the Wallace Monument

Arches at the top of the Wallace Monument

Even abroad, life is not always wonderful. There are highs and lows in Scotland just like there is anywhere else, but when the lows come, they help to make the highs all the better, more meaningful, and more delightful, lest 'shade to shade doth come too easily', to make the fire warmer and give it a deeper glow (some things that Keats said and Stevenson may have said a long time ago).

The Lembas is a Little Stale, Galadriel

I promised a post that would reflect my time in the Lake District. Already the details have blurred into a happy memory of driving through the countryside and up small mountains covered with heather, and taking occasional walks up the sides of mountains, to waterfalls, or along a footpath. We stopped at one to see a the Bowder Stone, a rock that had slid from the mountainside and come to rest in the valley on a corner, so that the entire rock balances on its side.

The rock itself is remarkable, but that isn’t what struck me initially. It was the forest walking to the stone that was so beautiful – it was like a primeval forest, remembering times long gone when bears and wolves may still have roamed through the trees, hunted by Celtic warriors blessed by their druids. But that wasn’t what struck me, either. It was the light and the greenery – it’s always the same things that get me – everywhere I looked, I saw trees and moss and heather, all lit up by the sunlight. The moss was so thick, it grew around every side of the trees. Standing there, I could almost hear the forest growing, I could feel it.

Time didn’t matter in that forest; it smelt of the eternal. This was the real Lothlorian in real proportions, not one romanticized as a dwelling for elves that grew old a long, long time ago. It was ageless and young and ancient and fecund and real. My memories of it are only passing, but it will be a place I will return to again and again within my own memory and imagination.

Pictures have been added!

They can only do so much justice...

From "Ode on Melancholy"

"Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
and feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes"

- John Keats