SIMPLE REALITY

She had been reading, but her book had slipped to the floor, and now she was dreaming, with a smile on her parted lips. Glittering castles in Spain were shaping themselves out of the mists and rainbows of her lively fancy; adventures wonderful and enthralling were happening to her in cloudland--adventures that always turned out triumphantly and never involved her in scrapes like those of actual life.  

–  L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I live in a lush, luxurious world of the invisible, the unseen and the almost felt.  I am an escapist.  I spend long hours – longer in the firmness of reality than in the transparency of the imagination – slipping away into a land of mist and color and the smell of a world after rain.  I’m an incurable dreamer.

I’d like to think that I’m in good company as I explore the furthest corners of fancy.  At the very least, I have the fictional company of my namesake.  I do not quite aspire to be Anne Shirley (though the journey through time and space that would facilitate such a transformation would not be unwelcome, nor would I mind if I miraculously gained the ability to grow red hair!).  Yet her wonder and astonishment and determination to find beauty in even the most unlikely places never fails to inspire me.

The world is not as mundane a place as it sometimes seems.  I have long known this to be true, but still I am amazed at just how often this truth manifests itself, and in what disparate circumstances this knowledge is reinforced.  Looking into the Grand Canyon, I first understood fully what it means to be unable to describe a thing with words.  A full skirt and a petticoat once gave me a similar rush of inexpressible fulfillment.  Waking in a sunlit room can be as thrilling as the pleasant drop in my stomach at the start of a roller coaster ride.  I am a sort of collector of beauty, but I find it in so many places, tangible and intangible, that I’ve never yet found a container that can house my collection.

Discontent is always the best place to start.  I am convinced that it would be much harder to find beautiful things in a perfect world.  A king surrounded by opulence would have a terrible time starting his collection.  A peasant will cling to every small pleasure as though his life depends upon it.  I would rather have too little than too much, because I, like Anne Shirley, am afraid that an excess of wealth would spell certain death for my imagination.  The other Anne remarks when confronted by finery, “I’ve dreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don't believe I feel very comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in this room and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That is one consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you can imagine about.”

It is possible that one day I will be rich.  While it does seem unlikely, I cannot rule out the possibility that I may one day be able to spend all my time at a seaside villa in France sipping fine lemonade and wearing a new Regency-era gown every day (do you see how well-exercised my imagination is at present?).  But even if such a thing were possible, I think – I hope! – that I would choose to live in mundanity, spinning out impossible and beautiful fantasies in the comfort of simple reality.