Now, being much older and perceptive, I’m almost glad I saved my first reading for my college years. There are so many lessons that can be applied to my life in general—having a respect for nature, living simply, relishing in beauty—but there was a certain lesson I gained that was very applicable to my current age and life situation. At first glance, my lesson learned might look like the ever popular “leaving the Shire” theme, and it is—at fist. However, I recognize a continuation of that theme and those emotions throughout the novel, whenever Frodo encounters a safe haven. My lesson learned is this: trudging onward, growing through change, and not being complacent.
I have been so taken up with the thoughts of leaving Bag End, and of saying farewell, that I have never even considered the direction (I.73).
When I left home for college, I knew that I wanted to get away. I had had a restless spirit since the end of my sophomore year of high school and knew that I had to leave. I had a big city heart and naturally started looking for a skyline to call my home. I honestly cannot tell you what drew me to the Twin Cities when Chicago was so closer and so much bigger. Perhaps it was a shot in the dark. I didn’t know what direction I needed to go as much as I knew I needed to leave.
Leaving the Shire wasn’t the hard part, and it was rather exciting at that. At first. Even Frodo desired to go on adventures and travel, so long as the Shire wasn’t far behind him. Going to college is often thought of as this major life step—and for some, it is. It’s a matter of the heart, yes, but is also a matter of sheer distance. Even as a student who lives four hours away from home, I don’t feel as though home is completely unattainable, so long as I have a car. But, for me, the Shire represents the next step: graduate school and real life. One that I am slowly realizing may result in a much more foreign location than the Midwest.
Of course, I have sometimes thought of going away, but I imagined that as a kind of holiday, a series of adventures like Bilbo’s or better, ending in peace (I.69).
I feel as though life, God, my spirit, is calling me to live farther away from home, yet. This is what is frightening for me. This is leaving the Shire. I have realized that the image of the Shire isn’t necessarily your home—it isn’t Bag End. It is the area in which you are comfortable with. Stepping outside of your comfort zone is leaving the Shire—it isn’t merely moving across town or to the next state over.
I still have a restless spirit. I still desire to travel, go on adventures, and see new lands. The trouble is, I have a growing sense of complacency. I’m comfortable with where I am and the connections that I have. I realize that success in the Midwest is only a couple phone calls away, and that I could make a beautiful life for myself. There are friendships that would remain solid due to constant contact.
The struggle is the decision between merrymaking and adventure—much like what our Hobbits have to choose between on their adventures. In the Shire, and Rivendell, and other safe havens along the way, there is comfort, food, tobacco, merriment, and rest. Hobbits are fairly normal, ordinary creatures, which is a beautiful thing—something Paul Reasoner highlights in his wonderful essay, and something that everyone can learn from. There is much to be learned from the simplicity of the Hobbit life. Every time I watch the opening scenes of the Fellowship of the Ring film, I get shivers and long for a life of fishing, storytelling, and gardening. But while Tolkien emphasizes these natural beauties, he also draws attention to the fact that, for some, these things aren’t all there is in the world. Sometimes being comfortable isn’t as romantic a notion as it sounds.
It is dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. … You step into the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that, if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further…(I.82).
180 miles of my journey between Wisconsin and Minnesota is on highway 94 West. I looked at a map of that highway, once, when I was thinking of moving out west. If I let it, that same highway could carry me 900 miles through western Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, and beyond. I have no idea what is out there, but I feel drawn toward the adventure. It’s frightening. When I realized that the same road I travel on every couple months really does “go ever on and on,” it brought tears to my eyes. It’s almost mythic. I’m not just saying that because I'm in a Modern Mythmakers course. Every time I think of moving to Washington—a place I have never been before—I feel a sense of purpose, adventure, and calling. It’s a unique mythic experience that I haven’t shared with most people, for I don’t know how to describe it any better than that. Much like Frodo, I feel as though it is simply my purpose, my destiny, my journey, my path.
I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again (I.68).
It’s a frightening notion to leave the Shire—to leave all havens you have set up for yourself in a comfortable little world you’ve traveled around in. It is comforting to know that those places will always be there, waiting. Reading The Fellowship of the Ring has helped me discover that I haven’t necessarily left the Shire, yet. The Shire isn’t simply your home, but your comfort zone. But, as illustrated through Tolkien’s trilogy, although the road is long, and the discomfort is in abundance, the same self-knowledge attained cannot be gained from sitting on the porch of Bag-End.
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