In an earlier blog I (James) wrote about the joy of re-discovering the youthfulness (at least a bit) that is associated with being "at school" again. I have also mentioned that one of my goals this year was to read some of the classics that any self-respecting English teacher should have under his belt and which I, for one reason or another, do not. These two recent occurrences in my new Australian life continue to inspire me and have given rise to another blog entry.
I am currently reading Brideshead Revisited figuring that I needed at least one Evelyn Waugh in my stable. Happily, I am enjoying the writing and the subject of Charles Ryder's youthful adventures at Oxford. If, however, "real" British academics were anything like they are described by Waugh in the early part of the 20th century then it is no wonder the colonial world suffered for so long under British rule. The sense of entitlement is completely overwhelming!
Anyway, I came across this passage the other day that is Charles's and ultimately I think Waugh's reflection about the "experience" and the privilege associated with being young:
The langour of Youth - how unique and quintessential it is! How quickly, how irrecoverably, lost! The zest, the generous affections, the illusions, the despair, all the traditional attributes of Youth - all save this - come and go with us through life. These things are a part of life itself; but langour - the relaxation of yet unwearied sinews, the mind sequestered and self-regarding - that belongs to Youth alone and dies with it. Perhaps in the mansions of Limbo the heroes enjoy some such compensation for their loss of the Beatific Vision; perhaps the Beatific Vision itself has some remote kinship with this lowly experience; I, at any rate, believed myself very near heaven during my languid days at Brideshead.
I don't know if I would call these the languid days at Melbourne; however, I think Waugh has captured that same sense I am privileged to feel every once and awhile reading, thinking and wandering around the university. It's this feeling that there is time, this very special and rare and perhaps "quintessential" time, to consider all manner of things in a slightly more interested, relevant, and youthful way. Gone is the rush and the rumble of life at an ever-increasing pace. Life is slow, methodical, (maybe in a month or two - too slow) but for now it is a luxurious and languid pace - the pace of youth, where time and the world are on your side. Of course, we are only able to accurately gauge how far we have fallen away from this state when we look back with experience and a degree of regret.
The trick with this "theory" of mine, like all others I am coming to learn, is to turn it into action. Where do you find the langour when the costs of the big city life come calling? Have I cashed in all of my chances to linger in the langour and does one have to wait for the golden days of retirement to capure it again? Is this a mindset that I can pack up neatly and ship home? Time will tell. But for now I will enjoy revisiting my own "langour of Youth" thankful for everything and to everyone who has allowed it to happen.
I am currently reading Brideshead Revisited figuring that I needed at least one Evelyn Waugh in my stable. Happily, I am enjoying the writing and the subject of Charles Ryder's youthful adventures at Oxford. If, however, "real" British academics were anything like they are described by Waugh in the early part of the 20th century then it is no wonder the colonial world suffered for so long under British rule. The sense of entitlement is completely overwhelming!
Anyway, I came across this passage the other day that is Charles's and ultimately I think Waugh's reflection about the "experience" and the privilege associated with being young:
The langour of Youth - how unique and quintessential it is! How quickly, how irrecoverably, lost! The zest, the generous affections, the illusions, the despair, all the traditional attributes of Youth - all save this - come and go with us through life. These things are a part of life itself; but langour - the relaxation of yet unwearied sinews, the mind sequestered and self-regarding - that belongs to Youth alone and dies with it. Perhaps in the mansions of Limbo the heroes enjoy some such compensation for their loss of the Beatific Vision; perhaps the Beatific Vision itself has some remote kinship with this lowly experience; I, at any rate, believed myself very near heaven during my languid days at Brideshead.
I don't know if I would call these the languid days at Melbourne; however, I think Waugh has captured that same sense I am privileged to feel every once and awhile reading, thinking and wandering around the university. It's this feeling that there is time, this very special and rare and perhaps "quintessential" time, to consider all manner of things in a slightly more interested, relevant, and youthful way. Gone is the rush and the rumble of life at an ever-increasing pace. Life is slow, methodical, (maybe in a month or two - too slow) but for now it is a luxurious and languid pace - the pace of youth, where time and the world are on your side. Of course, we are only able to accurately gauge how far we have fallen away from this state when we look back with experience and a degree of regret.
The trick with this "theory" of mine, like all others I am coming to learn, is to turn it into action. Where do you find the langour when the costs of the big city life come calling? Have I cashed in all of my chances to linger in the langour and does one have to wait for the golden days of retirement to capure it again? Is this a mindset that I can pack up neatly and ship home? Time will tell. But for now I will enjoy revisiting my own "langour of Youth" thankful for everything and to everyone who has allowed it to happen.
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