This series really had a profound effect on me. I guess I’ve never really thought about it before, but Anne of Green Gables really has a special place in my heart.
I remember watching this over and over as a child, and though there are many things I’ve forgotten, the thing I remember so clearly is Anne’s imagination. She was an orphan, and alone and talked too much, but she always relied on herself, and her own imagination to get her out of scrapes. I’m sure, had she really existed, that she was very lonely, but there are much worse ways to deal with loneliness than by pretending that you’re surrounded by friends.
I have a lot in common with Anne. Always wanting to be the heroine in some wild fantasy. Wishing I looked different or was different. But then learning that things you can’t change in real life are somehow changeable inside. Such a rich internal life. I really had that for a long time, and I guess, as I met the man I love, and met people that inspired happiness in me, I relied less and less on that internal life to provide the sustenance I needed. Now that things are a little more difficult for me, I’m finding that I’m turning inwards again. Reading more, imagining more. Is that a bad way to live your life? Should I be actively living, or is it ok to go back to the cave and wait for the sun to come again?
I’m not sure. I’m not sure what Anne would do.