The title will make sense eventually. I admit to being a bit obsessive in my love of all Tolkien. So, if you are not someone who has read the books or watched the movies & loved it, this post is not for you.
I remember reading The Hobbit for the first time. I was in middle school and had just devoured The Chronicles of Narnia and I was ready to jump head first into the world of fantasy. My dear aunt let me borrow her second American edition of The Hobbit, and I couldn’t put it down. Literally. I read as I walked through the school halls between classes. I read during class. (If any of my old teachers read this at some point, I hope it won’t affect my grade.) I stayed up absurdly late reading it. I laughed and cried with the characters.
And I will never forget when we first meet the Elves. I think everyone is enchanted by the Elves. Who wouldn’t be? Their mystery and otherworldly beauty is captivating. And I wanted to be one. I was memorizing lines in Elvish and plotting my wardrobe change before you could blink.
Years later, I experienced this feeling again when Lord of the Rings came out to theaters. Even the score written for the Elves fits that feeling. Just like Frodo and Sam, we watch with jaws dropped and a sense of awe. And I longed to be one.
But I have come to the realization that I am not an Elf. I will never be Galadriel or Arwen. While I can admire and stare in amazement at such as these, it is not who I am. I am more like Eowyn, strong but still feminine. Maybe a little melancholy at times. At least, like her, I really lucked out on the man I got. But I am not solemn, and while Elves are beautiful and graceful, I think I am finally beginning to be happy with being a simple Rohirrim maiden.