I have a personality trait where I believe that I can set something up for the rest of my life. I have figured out eating plans for the rest of my life, exercise plans for the rest of my life, wardrobe plans, reading plans, knitting and gardening and writing plans. I approach each new hobby holistically, by which I mean I research what materials one would need if one were going to keep at it for the rest of one’s life, and settle on those as the minimum basic set. Thus I have a fairly good setup for binding books by hand, for example, and for marbling paper, for small-scale loom weaving, for scrapbooking, for writing letters by hand–all things I’ve lost interest in. I am constantly trying to find the correct combination of luggage that will solve my How To Pack For Travel problem forever. And when I was young–oh so young and foolish–I thought I could settle on a kind of shoes for the rest of my life. Jewelry for the rest of my life (pearl stud earrings, btw). I felt that having these questions answered would leave me free to move on to bigger and better things.
It’s all foolishness, of course. Our society is too materially rich and I am too flighty a person to settle on practically anything for the rest of my life.
Of course, some things are different. My kid is my kid for life, for example, and I sincerely hope that my husband is also my husband for life. Back in my high-earning days I bought some nice furniture that is probably my furniture for life, and that’s fine. I have romantic ideas about being allowed to make my current home into my home for life. The longest I’ve lived at any one address was seven years. I’d like to find out what it’s like to live in one place for multiple decades. Given my history of moving around, though. . .well, we’ll see. My husband lived at our former house for fifteen years, and in that area for thirty. That was a long time. Maybe he’ll anchor me.
Life being what it is, though, not only circumstances but I as a person change. Now that I’m out of my tumultuous twenties and more than halfway through my thirties, I can, funnily enough, observe certain things be pared away from my life. I am less likely to pick up a new hobby and its paraphernalia. I am less likely to spend time forming a coherent scheme for my wardrobe. Paradoxically, I am also more likely to stick with a garment for multiple years once I buy it. That’s wisdom. As for the hobbies–well. Let me say that as one ages, one comes to term with limitations. When you’re young, you feel that anything you don’t get done, doesn’t get done because you’re lazy. Later on you realize that there are simply only so many hours in the day, and that you only have so much Voom. You can focus on maybe one major and one minor interest at a time while keeping up with practical obligations, and the rest has to slide. So you approach hobbies with more suspicion.
Does that mean I’m actually finding my Patterns For Life? I don’t know.
To connect this to writing: I find that some of the most appealing books are ones that seem to present a Unified Scheme For The Rest Of The Character’s Life. Happily Ever Afters in romances, for example. Mary’s gardening in The Secret Garden. Insanity in The Yellow Wallpaper. We want to watch a character approach an unchanging state in life; something that can always be depended upon. Of course real life just isn’t like that–but oh. It’s so soothing.