An Atypical Sybilian

I love Downton Abbey. In particular, I adore the character of Lady Sybil, the youngest, political and oh-so-slightly rebellious daughter of Lord Grantham. Sure she's not your average costume drama female protagonist; maybe she'd rather wear pants than a gown, but she has a passion for living. An ability to see beyond what is expected of her in life, to not be afraid to dream, even if it means sacrificing the things dearest to her. She has a good heart, a quick mind and an endearing rebelliousness against the times. Plus she's now married to the delightful Irish chauffeur with the prettypretty eyes, and having a potato baby!!!

Now I'm no Lady Sybil. I'm about as far from rebellious as you can get. I love skirts and ballgowns. And I'm not (sad face) the daughter of an Earl. In fact, I'm in many ways the complete opposite of her character. But we share one fundamental thing- we dream of a time different to our own. For Sybil, this is an era where women have rights, where each person is entitled to their opinion. For me, it's an era where it's accepted by society that you dream of a God-filled life, a baby-filled life and a life lived without the constant bombardment of consumerism. 

I've always thought I was old-fashioned. But maybe I'm not! Maybe I'm dreaming of an era that has yet to come, one that combines the morality and poise of the Victorian era with the modern expression of creativity, of love, of faith. Because, upon reconsidering A Bygone Era, I realised that a few hundred years ago, I'd not have been able to live out my faith in such a vibrant way as today allows me. I always complain about the atheistic nature of today's society, but I don't think I realise enough how many AWESOME Christ-loving people are out there living vibrantly in the light of God. There are so many things I love about society today. Equal rights for all, good education for men and women alike, the convenience of motorised transportation, central heating and indoor plumbing, to name a few. To be entirely honest, I don't think I'd cope too well in the Victorian era. 

Sybil Branson and I are both rebels against the times. I love the feeling of being different to everyone else I know. So often I resent the fact that I'm scorned for my differences, but I never truly appreciate the fact that I'm not just your typical (clothes-hoarding, OneDirection-loving, makeup-wearing, facebook-surfing, constant-texting, individuality-fearing) teenage girl. And I'm so proud of the fact that I'm not. No offense to those people :-) Rebelliousness has become the norm in our society- so it seems to me that paradoxically, the true rebels are the ones who aren't actually rebellious at all... which is what makes them rebellious. 

I'm excited by the prospect that one day, just as Sybil's imagined world has been realised, mine too with someday become the norm. A world where people have seven children (who all sing together like in the Sound of Music!!). Where religious vocations are frequent and celebrated. Where everyone lives according to need rather than want, and materialism is not the foundation of society. Who knows if this will happen in my lifetime, but I'll keep dreaming. I'm not your typical civilian. I'm an atypical Sybilian and mighty proud of it!!!!

In other news:

My 16th Birthday is on Friday!!!!

Set Free is this weekend!!!!!

The poor blog continues to take a backburner as I focus on the million other things to do, and procrastinate constantly. Instead I've traced my family tree back to 1628, read the blogs of quite a few awesome Catholic moms, found a place I'd like to live when I grow up, drawn some house plans, made a list of everything I own (to figure out what I don't need), read a lot and generally procrastinated writing my history essay (which is now done, thank goodness).

A Cool Story

My paternal great-great-great grandfather Daniel Early, an Irish immigrant to the U.S.A., went west in search of gold in 1859. Instead of bringing back the wealth he had anticipated finding, he brought back typhoid fever, which killed him and five of his six children. The only one who survived, baby Margaret, was my great-great grandmother. Lucky coincidence?

In other history, the Irish side of my heritage is quite scandallous! That same great-great grandmother gave birth to my great-grandmother at age 13. She was married. Her daughter, however, gave birth to my grandfather fifteen days after her marriage. Shortest pregnancy ever? Well, no-one ever accused the Irish of being dull. The Dutch side of my heritage is infinitely less interesting. :-)