Post by yukitamashii on Jan 17, 2008 19:02:03 GMT -5
A Lavinia fic--Lavinia Townsend realizes it's never too late to change your life. But how, exactly, do you go about doing that?
Part I
Everybody thinks they know me. They see what I do, and that’s who I am. I saw a movie once, where some guy said to the girl, “Those are things you’ve done, not who you are. Who you are is just fine.” I think she was a recovering alcoholic, or something. And in a book I read, even the bad guys understood where the good guys were coming from, saw their points of view and just didn’t like it, preferred their own way.
But people aren’t like that in real life. Nobody has ever understood me. I used to play the unspoken game women play with my then-boyfriend, but he never caught on to what I really wanted, in all my mock-anger. I’m not even sure he knew it was a game, not really me. He’s my husband now, and though he says he loves me, I know he doesn’t, but he doesn’t know that he doesn’t. He loves what he thinks I am.
Who am I? Just a lonely little rich girl. How do you go from being the spoiled, mean and beautiful girl who has every material object she could desire, and so must therefore be happy, to some else, who really is? I’m twenty-eight years old, and I envy a woman a few years younger than me, who works, and rarely takes vacations, and likely goes home smelling of sweat. But she smiles so much, even when she thinks no one’s watching. That’s when women are truly themselves, when they think no one is watching. She stares off into the distance, or at her husband, and smiles.
I want to feel that way, but more, I want to be loved for who I really am. I don’t even know who that is anymore, because I’ve pretended for so long. But still, couldn’t I…?
“Hope,” Cathryn Assanda says softly, nodding, perched her deep brown suede stuffed chair. It matches the color or her pantsuit. “Hope is very important. You must not lose it. Never think that it’s too late. I’ve seen eighty year olds in here that change their lives, and end them well, on their terms. And you, my dear, are nowhere near to being done with your life.”
The sunlight tries to come into the room through the two windows, one in front of me, one to my left, but only succeeds in turning her cream-white blinds into bright white bars with little halos on each end. Combined with the dim lamp, it’s just enough light. I feel safer in the artificial twilight than I would under a spotlight-bright room. The whole room is done in shades of brown. Even her hair and eyes is brown. I’d never thought of it as a soothing color before. Now…
“Are you listening?” she asks gently, dark eyes serious on me, but not probing or demanding, only mildly curious. She had never once chided me for wasting her time.
“I was,” I answer. “I’m…it’s like I’m waiting for something. Something to change. But nothing’s happening, and I wonder if it ever will.”
“You know what you are waiting for?” She smiles slightly, just a tiny curving of her lips. “You are waiting for yourself. You expect to see your whole world be changed by someone with a white horse and shield, but it is you who is your knight in shining armor. Be afraid, if you want to, until the day you aren’t anymore. But in the meantime, get up and change your life.”
“I’ve grown familiar with my life the way it is now.”
“So?” she asks. “What does that have to do with whether or not you are happy? Nothing. You are not. Disregard that. You will find you can be comfortable in being familiar with yourself, because you will know yourself, and what you can and cannot handle, and will adjust your life accordingly. Then it will not matter if you know everything about everything around you. You won’t have to seek out places that are completely predictable in order to feel safe. You cannot be strong right now because you are self-ignorant, and believe you are powerless. You don’t have to be anymore.”
As I listen to her, it comes to me what people are actually saying when they speak inspirationally. They are saying ‘Make the choice to change it all. Make the choice to change yourself, and your whole life will change.’ With the realization comes awareness of an inner confidence, maybe new, maybe old. I am the only one who can make me anything. If I want to be a spoiled brat, I allow myself to be. If I want to be more, I have to also allow that, or I’ll never learn anything.
“Thank you, Cathryn. For making me see something that’s been true all along.”
“You’re welcome, Lavinia. Now, goals are helpful, as are plans, though we cannot live and die by not making one, or not making one in a matter of days. That said, what do you plan to do?”
“Something dramatic,” I announce. Her forehead wrinkles as her brows draw together. “To signify irrevocably to myself, that I am not returning to my pretending. I am going to befriend an enemy.”
Part I
Everybody thinks they know me. They see what I do, and that’s who I am. I saw a movie once, where some guy said to the girl, “Those are things you’ve done, not who you are. Who you are is just fine.” I think she was a recovering alcoholic, or something. And in a book I read, even the bad guys understood where the good guys were coming from, saw their points of view and just didn’t like it, preferred their own way.
But people aren’t like that in real life. Nobody has ever understood me. I used to play the unspoken game women play with my then-boyfriend, but he never caught on to what I really wanted, in all my mock-anger. I’m not even sure he knew it was a game, not really me. He’s my husband now, and though he says he loves me, I know he doesn’t, but he doesn’t know that he doesn’t. He loves what he thinks I am.
Who am I? Just a lonely little rich girl. How do you go from being the spoiled, mean and beautiful girl who has every material object she could desire, and so must therefore be happy, to some else, who really is? I’m twenty-eight years old, and I envy a woman a few years younger than me, who works, and rarely takes vacations, and likely goes home smelling of sweat. But she smiles so much, even when she thinks no one’s watching. That’s when women are truly themselves, when they think no one is watching. She stares off into the distance, or at her husband, and smiles.
I want to feel that way, but more, I want to be loved for who I really am. I don’t even know who that is anymore, because I’ve pretended for so long. But still, couldn’t I…?
“Hope,” Cathryn Assanda says softly, nodding, perched her deep brown suede stuffed chair. It matches the color or her pantsuit. “Hope is very important. You must not lose it. Never think that it’s too late. I’ve seen eighty year olds in here that change their lives, and end them well, on their terms. And you, my dear, are nowhere near to being done with your life.”
The sunlight tries to come into the room through the two windows, one in front of me, one to my left, but only succeeds in turning her cream-white blinds into bright white bars with little halos on each end. Combined with the dim lamp, it’s just enough light. I feel safer in the artificial twilight than I would under a spotlight-bright room. The whole room is done in shades of brown. Even her hair and eyes is brown. I’d never thought of it as a soothing color before. Now…
“Are you listening?” she asks gently, dark eyes serious on me, but not probing or demanding, only mildly curious. She had never once chided me for wasting her time.
“I was,” I answer. “I’m…it’s like I’m waiting for something. Something to change. But nothing’s happening, and I wonder if it ever will.”
“You know what you are waiting for?” She smiles slightly, just a tiny curving of her lips. “You are waiting for yourself. You expect to see your whole world be changed by someone with a white horse and shield, but it is you who is your knight in shining armor. Be afraid, if you want to, until the day you aren’t anymore. But in the meantime, get up and change your life.”
“I’ve grown familiar with my life the way it is now.”
“So?” she asks. “What does that have to do with whether or not you are happy? Nothing. You are not. Disregard that. You will find you can be comfortable in being familiar with yourself, because you will know yourself, and what you can and cannot handle, and will adjust your life accordingly. Then it will not matter if you know everything about everything around you. You won’t have to seek out places that are completely predictable in order to feel safe. You cannot be strong right now because you are self-ignorant, and believe you are powerless. You don’t have to be anymore.”
As I listen to her, it comes to me what people are actually saying when they speak inspirationally. They are saying ‘Make the choice to change it all. Make the choice to change yourself, and your whole life will change.’ With the realization comes awareness of an inner confidence, maybe new, maybe old. I am the only one who can make me anything. If I want to be a spoiled brat, I allow myself to be. If I want to be more, I have to also allow that, or I’ll never learn anything.
“Thank you, Cathryn. For making me see something that’s been true all along.”
“You’re welcome, Lavinia. Now, goals are helpful, as are plans, though we cannot live and die by not making one, or not making one in a matter of days. That said, what do you plan to do?”
“Something dramatic,” I announce. Her forehead wrinkles as her brows draw together. “To signify irrevocably to myself, that I am not returning to my pretending. I am going to befriend an enemy.”