It was in fairy-stories that I first divined the potency of the words, and the wonder of the things, such as stone, and wood, and iron; tree and grass; house and fire; bread and wine.--Tolkien 

(Edit: This is a reposting from another blog I was writing.)
 Tomorrow is Hobbit Day, September 22nd.  It is celebrated by many Lord of the Rings fans, because it is the birthday of both Bilbo Baggins and Frodo Baggins.   (Tolkien scholars, argue that it ought to be about 10 days earlier, because the Gregorian Calendar and the calendar of the hobbits do not quite match.)

Fans celebrate the day in their own ways.  For me, I like to begin rereading the book on this day.  I do it every year. This year, I'm also going to do watch the extended versions of the film.

Why do I do this every year?

Lord of the Rings forever changed the course of my life. In many ways, it is the reason I have faith in God. When I was 13 years old, I struggled through the book for the first time.  I nearly gave up during The Fellowship of the Ring, because the story begins by lingering on birthday parties and the blissfully naive inhabitants of the Shire; and then there is so much attention to detail of each hill and valley, flower and tree, and many references to historical figures of the world, and so much poetry.  But, I endeavored into the Mines of Moria, felt the crush of loss when Gandalf died and then stepped into fairy-country, Lothlorien.  My wounds, like the wounds of the characters were healed, and I first felt the stirrings of wonder.

I no longer struggled to read the book, I couldn't stop.  I had become immersed in the world. When the last page was completed, I cried. Even at 13 years old I knew that I had been part of something special. I didn't just read a good book, I had entered into a fairy-story and one does not leave the realm unchanged.

I looked upon trees with a new found respect and perhaps even a reverence.  On car rides, I would look upon a woods and try to determine if it was an ancient woods, like that of Fangorn, a magical wood like that of Lorien, or something more sinister, like that of Mirkwood or The Old Forest.

What I remember most about reading the book for the first time and for a time after was that it was a time of true Joy. There was an intense happiness that was fleshy and wholly of this world, I felt both a more solid part of the this world, and as if I had been let in on a secret of the truly privileged.  The secret though, was bittersweet.  I had glimpsed what at the time I could only call Heaven,  I was certain that in Heaven I would have eternity to walk through middle-earth and meet the many characters of its world, it felt like I had really come home, but each day that passed the feeling of being at home lessened and I yearned for it more.  Until, one day all that was left was a memory of having at one time felt at home.

C.S. Lewis described the sensation as Sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing, a memory for a far-off country-a place we all seem to know, but can't recall.  I feel that memory was real, Middle Earth may be Tolkien's creating, but in his creation, he awakened memories of something wonderful.  I mean that both as something exquisite and as something full of wonder and fantastic things. It was that moment of Sehnsucht, that would not go away, in college I wanted to feel smart and so I scoffed at people of faith and tried my hardest to be athiest, but I could never quite commit, because of a memory I had of a far-off country.

What Lord of the Rings did for me, is exactly what a good fairy-story should do, according to Tolkien.  In his essay, "On Fairy Stories," Tolkien, tired of people postulating that fairy-tales were for kids and of lesser merit than other forms of literature, described what a good fairy-story does:

• Creates a secondary-world that both the creator and reader can enter.
• It offers a recovery of our senses--it helps us protect us from looking at the world with triteness
• It provides a temporary escape from industrialization
• It offers consolation--in other words it has a happy ending and provides us hope.

I have found and continue to find all of Tolkien's criteria of a good fairy story in his own work.  This is the main reason each year I return to the books.  I know enough now, that I probably will not experience Sehnsucht from the rereading.  As Lewis describes, the harder one tries to capture the feeling the less likely one is to find it; however, every year find new appreciation for the story and I receive the benefits of escape, recovery, and consolation.

I believe these are important aspects of a quality life and so I do not feel guilty for spending a day in front of the television watching eleven hours and 21 minutes of film, once a year.  I don't feel bad for setting aside other books I might want to read, to reread this one.  I revel in the frivolity of celebrating the birthdays of Bilbo and Frodo.  Recreation or re-creation is considered an important part of a quality life according to Aristotle as well, who knows.  If he had read Lord of the Rings he might have had a little hobbit day tradition too.

Small Victories

“Victory is won not in miles but in inches. Win a little now, hold your ground, and later, win a little more.” ~Louis L'Armour

Self-improvement can be a daunting task, especially in the midst of depression. I look at all the self-improvement gurus filling the book shelves of the local book store, I see the vast number of blogs and websites devoted to self-improvement projects.  The experts come from a myriad of backgrounds--some had the advantage of being driven and disciplined from the get go and they simply share what works for them, others had to hit rock bottom and crawl their way to the top.  I'm in the latter category.

If you were to take a snap shot of my life right now, you might rule me out as a failure. I'm overweight obese.  I'm on medications for depression and anxiety.  I'm unemployed. Yet, I am comfortable talking about and sharing self-improvement with anyone that will listen.

Why?

Self-improvement/lifestyle change is all about the small victories.  Small victories can win battles over time.  The key is recognizing when you have gained ground and understand that now you have to hold it.

This is where I place myself in the picture, three months ago I was drowning in depression.   The slightest interruption to my day could bury me.  I felt so fragile, so completely helpless.  I once started out a day with the ambition to clean house only to discover that we were out of garbage bags, it was as if someone had knocked on my door, pointed to a body in the road and asked me, "Is that your dog?"  Instead of getting in the car and going to the store for more bags, I spent the rest of the day laying on the couch, wondering how I was going to make it until bedtime.

Between then and now many battles have been waged, I've won more than I've lost.  I steadily gain ground, even if on occasion I have had to give some.

I began my fighting back with a whimper. I said I felt fragile, nothing could describe the feeling more accurately. I loaded my iPod with new age music and meditations.  I sought out the doctor and took, Xanax, Paxil, and Zoloft every day.  I avoid confrontation and expectations and I began researching ways to overcome depression.

I have a background in education and I recalled Maslow's "Hierarchy of Needs".  He basically says that before a person can move on to the higher levels of living-the needs of the body must be met first.  This seemed to make sense, as most of the advice seemed to call for exercise.  So this is where I began.

I waited for my medicine to kick in, took my iPod full of relaxing music and made my way to a local gym. I found a treadmill and started it on its lowest setting and I walked.  The next day I did the same.  And the next and the next.  I had begun the battle, although I wouldn't have described it as such yet.  I still hadn't discovered I had enemies.  I felt more as if I was trying to remain afloat.

The thing about treadmills and calm music is that it allows your mind to wander.  One day, my mind happened to wonder to ancient Greece.  I had been thinking about an article I had read from a blog called Aristotle & Achilles, the author writes, in his about page, that we all have a little of Aristotle and a little of Achilles within us. I had been reading up on Aristotle, because I wanted to learn about "The Good Life".  I was hoping to save myself through an understanding of the principals that wisdom would suggest leads to a quality life.  I had not thought about Achilles or a warrior aspect.

Treading on that mill, I saw myself as a grey-haired prisoner.  I philosopher locked away, whispering, "I know what the good life is, I just can't live it locked away in here." I wasn't alone though, not if I also had an Achilles within.  Long ago, I had hidden my Achilles side a way.  Achilles is brash, he says things that would get a person in trouble, hardly a person you would highlight as a figure of civility.  In other words, I was embarrassed by the notion of being uncivil and had long ago abandoned aggressive thoughts. In return, when my personal internal enemies appeared, I was left to defend myself with nothing but a philosopher.

But, like any good hero, when I finally realized I needed him, he came to the rescue.  My enemies were put at bay, the philosopher was set free and I realize I have a team of personas to help me live a quality life.  One, a philosopher to help me peer into the questions of a higher matter, the other, a warrior, to kick ass whenever an enemy rears it's ugly head.  And so the war has begun, and I continue to both gain ground when I can, and hold my own when needed.