That last thought I had, about young love and hindsight, was abruptly cut short by the sudden wail of night terrors from my son. It feels incomplete.
This is the cause of my return to adolescence. Last year I loved True Blood. I was obsessed with the passion there, and the artistic grit present in the first season ( the subsequent season? Eh, not so much ).
I resisted Twilight for as long as I could. It couldn’t be good if everyone liked it. I got curious a few weeks ago and finally gave in. One chapter and I was a complete goner.
It has occurred to me to be somewhat embarrassed by my surrender to something so universally appealing. That’s not really typical for me. But I can’t bring myself to shame. There is an undeniable magic in this love story, and that is a theme of absolutely timeless appeal.
So, as a friend of mine asked herself the moment after she heard the snap of her broken ankle, I ask myself “What is this going to teach me?”
Aside from some lovely dreams and a little bit of pressure on my husband to be a teeny bit more romantic, what I have taken from this experience is more self acceptance.
I hereby own that I LOVE the Twilight Saga, Edward Cullen, Bella Swan, stories of love, passion, movie making, artful acting, and the self that I am in all of these things… the 15, 17, 25-year-old who was shy but hopeful that there would be an Edward someplace in her story. She lives still in me, and I love her very much. .