We’d arranged to help my mother do her shopping, but leaving the house is no simple matter for my family. My older son had to submit his AFL footy tips which takes deep reflection. My daughter insisted on watching the most recent episode of Stranger Things to avoid accidental spoilers on social media. My younger son loitered over a repeat episode of Master Chef to laugh at the contestants’ cooking techniques under pressure. But time is of the essence, since they’d also arranged to meet friends at the cinema later that afternoon for the latest Marvel movie.
As for me, I’m an avid reader and classic novel buff. I wanted to check in with a cool Facebook group who are discussing Anne of Green Gables to see if any new provocative questions had been posted. I had my own swirling impressions about Moby Dick to anchor onto paper. And I badly wanted to jot down ideas for a fan fiction spin-off to Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities which I’ll surely write someday.
A niggling inner voice sometimes asks me if I’ve been a bad influence on my kids. Perhaps these activities should be postponed because they aren’t important but simply self-indulgent.
Do you enjoy an immersive soak in a good story too? Or watching movies, listening to podcasts, or buying tickets to live concerts? Do you save up for your favourite sports team’s merchandise? Perhaps the pleasure of adding a new favourite character to your list of literary crushes makes your day. My daughter collects hundreds of vinyl figurines she loves from books and screen. Their beady eyes seem to follow you whenever you step into her room. At one stage, hearing the name ‘Harry Potter’ could make my ears twitch across a crowded auditorium.
Maybe you’re just dying to know who’ll get married by the end of your novel, or who the villain turns out to be. And you've covered the backs and fronts of several scraps of paper with scribble, so you won’t forget plot details. Hey, maybe you’ll even figure out the mystery before Poirot.
‘But what’s the point of all this?’ a motivated medical missionary friend once asked me.
A tight, knotty feeling constricted my throat. It always happens when I panic. ‘Because it’s fun’ didn’t seem to cut it, so I didn’t say it. I’m not smart enough to add anything great to the world of science, engineering, politics or education. I don’t do anything important. The glint in her eye signified that she saw through me. I can't pinpoint a single soul who benefits from my love of reading and daydreaming. After all, it's not practical like the healing, helpful work she’s involved in. I’m merely a super passionate fan, but so what? Benefiting from someone else’s creative work isn't a skill, but a luxury.
I mumbled something about this sort of thing being mostly for downtime and escaped before she could ask, ‘Downtime from what?’ The brief exchange lingered like smog in my mind. Am I the ultimate parasite, wasting my life, by taking in without the means of giving much out? I wanted to dodge the next logical guilt trip of a question, but it wormed its accusative path into my conscience. Am I pulling my weight on this planet?
I tell you, I’m no fan of curly existential questions. Instead I’ve become a great fan of another person, who was also a wholehearted fan herself.
Let me take you back over two thousand years ago, to a fangirl who knelt in the desert sunset by the feet of a great visiting storyteller, captivated by every word he spoke. But her frazzled older sister poked her perspiring face out of the kitchen and pointedly cleared her throat.
‘Ahem, excuse me but has anyone noticed I’m doing all the work around here?’
Their guest’s raised eyebrows invited her to elaborate.
‘What I mean to say is this. I’ve been cooking, scrubbing and pot stirring, while Mary here has been sitting around doing nothing. Don’t you think she should give me a hand?’
The fangirl’s cheeks flamed. She was used to hearing her sister scold her to do something ‘useful,’ but never dreamed she’d draw their houseguest into their tense family dynamics. Whoa, I’ll be in for it later.
The great sage simply smiled. 'Martha, you're stressed out with many things on your plate, but if Mary has chosen the best one of all, who am I to deprive her? She isn’t doing nothing. I’ve nearly finished telling this story. Won’t those falafels keep for a moment? Why not stay and hear the end?'
The fangirl realised she was gaping, and snapped her mouth shut. Wow, what did he just say? Did he mean that being a fangirl was an acceptable use of her time after all?
We never find out just what was interrupted. What was he talking about to captivate her so? Was it one of his signature stories or something entirely new? Was it worth risking a tongue lashing for? Since Mary was so spellbound, wouldn’t you love the inside scoop?
But we never find out, because it's not the point. The spotlight is taken off the famous storyteller and shone on his listener. Her attitude strikes him as totally praiseworthy, to the point where he calls it a perfect use of her time. And she never appears to go away and do anything mind-blowing with whatever she takes on board. There's no 'Book of Mary' in the Bible where this story takes place. Her receptive, passionate heart was enough. She prioritised time for fun and fascination. Maybe when a receptive, passionate heart is the best we have to offer, it's enough from us too.
'Yeah, well somebody has to cook the meal and wash the dishes,' my busy, practical friend points out.
Well, duh, of course it’s self-evident that hard, tangible work is a huge benefit. Sometimes people in Martha's shoes are quite right to speak up. But hard workers often get the pats on the back they deserve, because the results of their industry are clear. This incident makes another point. Could it be that those of us who simply relish fandom may deserve kudos too?
What if our happy, preoccupied grins as we curl up with our books, switch on our screens or poke in our earbuds are lighthouse beacons, signalling others not to drift far from what brings them joy. It’s incredibly easy to get caught in riptides of duty and purpose. Maybe the danger is that this drift from pleasure doesn’t necessarily feel alarming. Just normal. Perhaps our passionate activities do have a point. Ours is the delightful duty of reminding others that it is vital to put aside time for whatever makes our hearts sing.
Once, my daughter and I stepped into a shop while she was wearing her Games of Thrones T-shirt. An employee stacking shelves nearby beamed broadly and called out, ‘Hey, do you think Jon Snow is really dead?’
A refreshing chat followed, which turned out to be one of the highlights of my daughter’s day. A shared fandom is a feast that makes friends out of strangers. Enthusiasts like my daughter, who are willing to wear their hearts on their T-shirts, can spread grace and joy wherever they go. And best of all, it’s freely bestowed, with no consideration for compensation or payback.
Another of my favourite role models, author Elizabeth Gilbert, says, ‘You may end only with the satisfaction of knowing you passed your existence in devotion to the noble human virtue of inquisitiveness. That should be more than enough for anyone to say that they lived a rich and splendid life.’
So please read on, my fellow nerds! Watch the documentary, learn how that game works, tell us your favourite novel from any specific series and explain why. When I'm feeling a bit fruitless, I sometimes remember that ancient fangirl Mary, who was never officially dubbed the Patron Saint of Fans but arguably should have been.
The last time we saw a nephew of mine, he said, ‘I love it when I get to hang out with you guys, because you all rave on about fictional characters as if they’re real people.’ I choose to take that as a real compliment. For if that’s truly what he loves, then he’s come to the right place.
‘But what’s the point of all this?’ a motivated medical missionary friend once asked me.
A tight, knotty feeling constricted my throat. It always happens when I panic. ‘Because it’s fun’ didn’t seem to cut it, so I didn’t say it. I’m not smart enough to add anything great to the world of science, engineering, politics or education. I don’t do anything important. The glint in her eye signified that she saw through me. I can't pinpoint a single soul who benefits from my love of reading and daydreaming. After all, it's not practical like the healing, helpful work she’s involved in. I’m merely a super passionate fan, but so what? Benefiting from someone else’s creative work isn't a skill, but a luxury.
I mumbled something about this sort of thing being mostly for downtime and escaped before she could ask, ‘Downtime from what?’ The brief exchange lingered like smog in my mind. Am I the ultimate parasite, wasting my life, by taking in without the means of giving much out? I wanted to dodge the next logical guilt trip of a question, but it wormed its accusative path into my conscience. Am I pulling my weight on this planet?
I tell you, I’m no fan of curly existential questions. Instead I’ve become a great fan of another person, who was also a wholehearted fan herself.
Let me take you back over two thousand years ago, to a fangirl who knelt in the desert sunset by the feet of a great visiting storyteller, captivated by every word he spoke. But her frazzled older sister poked her perspiring face out of the kitchen and pointedly cleared her throat.
‘Ahem, excuse me but has anyone noticed I’m doing all the work around here?’
Their guest’s raised eyebrows invited her to elaborate.
‘What I mean to say is this. I’ve been cooking, scrubbing and pot stirring, while Mary here has been sitting around doing nothing. Don’t you think she should give me a hand?’
The fangirl’s cheeks flamed. She was used to hearing her sister scold her to do something ‘useful,’ but never dreamed she’d draw their houseguest into their tense family dynamics. Whoa, I’ll be in for it later.
The great sage simply smiled. 'Martha, you're stressed out with many things on your plate, but if Mary has chosen the best one of all, who am I to deprive her? She isn’t doing nothing. I’ve nearly finished telling this story. Won’t those falafels keep for a moment? Why not stay and hear the end?'
The fangirl realised she was gaping, and snapped her mouth shut. Wow, what did he just say? Did he mean that being a fangirl was an acceptable use of her time after all?
We never find out just what was interrupted. What was he talking about to captivate her so? Was it one of his signature stories or something entirely new? Was it worth risking a tongue lashing for? Since Mary was so spellbound, wouldn’t you love the inside scoop?
But we never find out, because it's not the point. The spotlight is taken off the famous storyteller and shone on his listener. Her attitude strikes him as totally praiseworthy, to the point where he calls it a perfect use of her time. And she never appears to go away and do anything mind-blowing with whatever she takes on board. There's no 'Book of Mary' in the Bible where this story takes place. Her receptive, passionate heart was enough. She prioritised time for fun and fascination. Maybe when a receptive, passionate heart is the best we have to offer, it's enough from us too.
'Yeah, well somebody has to cook the meal and wash the dishes,' my busy, practical friend points out.
Well, duh, of course it’s self-evident that hard, tangible work is a huge benefit. Sometimes people in Martha's shoes are quite right to speak up. But hard workers often get the pats on the back they deserve, because the results of their industry are clear. This incident makes another point. Could it be that those of us who simply relish fandom may deserve kudos too?
What if our happy, preoccupied grins as we curl up with our books, switch on our screens or poke in our earbuds are lighthouse beacons, signalling others not to drift far from what brings them joy. It’s incredibly easy to get caught in riptides of duty and purpose. Maybe the danger is that this drift from pleasure doesn’t necessarily feel alarming. Just normal. Perhaps our passionate activities do have a point. Ours is the delightful duty of reminding others that it is vital to put aside time for whatever makes our hearts sing.
Once, my daughter and I stepped into a shop while she was wearing her Games of Thrones T-shirt. An employee stacking shelves nearby beamed broadly and called out, ‘Hey, do you think Jon Snow is really dead?’
A refreshing chat followed, which turned out to be one of the highlights of my daughter’s day. A shared fandom is a feast that makes friends out of strangers. Enthusiasts like my daughter, who are willing to wear their hearts on their T-shirts, can spread grace and joy wherever they go. And best of all, it’s freely bestowed, with no consideration for compensation or payback.
Another of my favourite role models, author Elizabeth Gilbert, says, ‘You may end only with the satisfaction of knowing you passed your existence in devotion to the noble human virtue of inquisitiveness. That should be more than enough for anyone to say that they lived a rich and splendid life.’
So please read on, my fellow nerds! Watch the documentary, learn how that game works, tell us your favourite novel from any specific series and explain why. When I'm feeling a bit fruitless, I sometimes remember that ancient fangirl Mary, who was never officially dubbed the Patron Saint of Fans but arguably should have been.
The last time we saw a nephew of mine, he said, ‘I love it when I get to hang out with you guys, because you all rave on about fictional characters as if they’re real people.’ I choose to take that as a real compliment. For if that’s truly what he loves, then he’s come to the right place.
No comments:
Post a Comment