happy endings

I decided 20 minutes before the movie time that I needed to see Pride and Prejudice last Sunday. Going to movies alone is my thing recently. Except I had the time wrong, so I ended up at the theater after the usher closed the door--20 minutes late. I went in anyway. My timing was off, but I refused to change my plan. It was okay, though, because I know the story. Even if I didn't I would've been fine. I don't need all the edge pieces to put a puzzle together--I've got a gift for filling in what's missing, sniffing out foreshadowing, and ruining the punchline. Somehow figuring out the ending is the only way to keep myself happy. I would have never survived in Austen's world. I'm nowhere near patient enough. My hunch is, she wasn't either, that's why she created heriones who could calmly needlepoint for years waiting for fickle suitors to come to their senses. I think writers often write what they wished they would have said and done for the someone-reading-along who might be braver than she was. But does it work? As I read along, I admire the herione for her faith and perseverance in struggle, but when it's my turn I fumble for corner pieces and rush for resolution. I know there's a happy ending waiting, so why not run toward it?

Last week I heard someone say that true peacefulness can be found even in the most unclear moments. Ever since he said it, I've wanted it--the ability to sit quietly and let the script unfold, trusting that truth is slow. Maybe that's why it seems so scarce in our instant-messaged world. We move too fast for truth, virtue, and peacefulness to settle into our waiting laps. Afterall, these days, who has time to needlepoint?