i do believe in faeries

Indefatigable has always been one of my favourite words. There is such a lot of quiet spunk in it. A certain amount of "I'll show you, world!", but not only that. Add to that a pinch of humour, a dose of healthy self-doubt, passion for an ideal, the urge to give, infinite depths of hope and a head always held high (metaphorically, of course). A certain quiet, comfortable sort of peace with oneself. 

I remember discovering this word so beautifully clearly. It's a fond memory. I had been introduced to the series of my childhood, Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery, and I was on a quest to discover Montgomery herself. Anne is a simple enough storyline: an orphan child, sensitive, starved for love. Adopted accidentally, permitted to stay. A stormy, endearing growing up. One could not help but love Anne; she was too human to be only a book-girl. She had her share of faults - anger, judgment, prejudice. But she knew the art of self-awareness, the rare ability to admit to fault and the importance of ideals. Her world was all that was fanciful and utopian, but also (or perhaps for that very reason*) strongly moral and guided by self-prescribed values. Montgomery, whom the biographer described as an 'indefatigable' scribbler, had poured much of herself into Anne. 

Montgomery grew up without playmates, with dour grandparents, with only books for companions and cherished friends, with no prospect of college-learning. She taught school, cared for her aging and ill grandparents until they no longer had the need, and moved, without much choice, into a humdrum existence. Throughout, she scribbled. Day in and day out, on good and bad days, through a harrowing war, through her newborn's death, when her love became futile, when growing up friendless. For her, writing was both strength and a release. A rich, giving, contained self pouring itself out through ink and pen. 

She defined 'indefatigable' for me. Ever since then, I have looked at that word wherever it turns up and been reminded of that plucky spirit, scribbling away determinedly through rain and sun. In return, it has given me the ability to see, recognise and worship the illimitable human spirit, and the autonomy that lies at the foundation of human life. It has taught me to respect human spirit (though I fear I forget 'tween-times, and have to be reminded continually) and to seek it everywhere. It has shown me - fleetingly, tantalisingly - the value of a life lived with an indomitable sense of spirit, of the refusal to give up, the aspiration towards the highest ideals and of the treachery that is compromise. 

In moments of exceptional clarity and gratitude, I am convinced that integrity - the pinnacle of all human values - comes from such steadfastness. A necessary, if not sufficient, condition. An unvanquishable, unassailable spirit. 

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* I was sent this delightful quote from Charles de Lint's The Onion Girl: "People who've never read fairy tales, the professor said, have a harder time coping in life than the ones who have. They don't have access to all the lessons that can be learnt from the journeys through dark woods and the kindness of strangers treated strangely, the knowledge that can be gained from the company and example of Donkeyskins and cats wearing boots and steadfast tin soldiers. I'm not talking about in-your-face lessons, but more subtle ones. The kind that seep up from your subconscious and give you moral and human structures for your life. The kind that teach you how to prevail, and trust. And maybe even love."

Let's never be too old or too wise to believe in faeries, Anne says. May we never - to believe in, or learn from, them.