“So, there’s this actor …” [guest post by CarlyQ]

[CarlyQ is the author of the popular fanfics “Iron & Oak” and “Oasis” (at DF). She’s writing an original story, “The Safety of Solitude,” that I’ve been following with a lot of interest, and has become a regular commentator here. This is her story. –Serv]

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Martin Freeman and Richard Armitage, news conference, Wellington, February 11, 2001. Source.

So, there’s this actor…

If you ever wonder, as a middle-aged woman, who your real friends are, starting a sentence with these words will be like shining a 15 million cp spotlight on all the people you know.

Those who stand like deer, stunned and confused? Not real friends.

Those who jump away from the beam and scurry into the underbrush (or under their desks)? Not real friends.

Those who turn away and pretend they don’t see what you’re doing? Not real friends.

Those who shade their eyes, walk forward, and ask you if you know you’re naked? Real friends.

Those who stand behind you, saying, “She’s fine, she needs to do/say this”? Real, dear friends.

The Questions

Since innocently boarding the Richard Armitage train, I’ve learned a few things. I haven’t said a lot, but I have learned so many things. Here’s a list of a few:

Why are peaches are my favorite fruit? Why does eating almost a bushel in one day made me break out in hives? Why do families live in terror of the words, “mid-life crisis”? Why am I so unhappy? Why is everyone else deliriously happy? Who loves me? Who do I love? What do I love? How connected are my body and mind? Am I a pervert? Is it over for me? What can I never come back from? Am I the only one? Can I accept the other ones? Am I worth anything? Why him?

You’re probably thinking:  The idiot! That’s a list of questions! We want the answers!

I wanted answers, too.

It was Netflix

In the beginning, I wasn’t even sure what the questions were, but I came across this blog, liked what I read, and honed my skills. I worked on my lurking and practiced reading with a dictionary. It smelled so collegiate in here that I rolled up a magazine, just in case the flying roaches showed up, too. I read and listened and followed her because it looked like she was going somewhere. I was comfortable with that. That’s what I used to do. Follow. I did what I was told. I may not have done it the first time I was told, but I respected authority and I did my best.

What drove me to search the Internet for answers, you ask?

It was Netflix. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I was trying to be attentive, hard working, and realistic. I was! But it was summer vacation, and I had the sinus infection from hell, so when Netflix began trying to introduce me to Mr. Armitage, I was already weak.

I swear, I resisted the overtures, as long as I could. But that Netflix? Relentless.

Netflix: If you liked Bleak House, you’ll love Milton.

Me: No, thanks.

Netflix: If you love Jane Eyre, you’re a Thornton girl.

Me: No, thank you.

Netflix: If you’ve ever read Jane Austen and fantasized about a gentleman’s cravat, we’ve got your guy.

Me: Nope.

Netflix: If you’re sick of your husband’s job, and wishing you lived in a year-round school district, we’ve got your Calgon; he’ll take you away.

Me: Right.

Netflix: If you can bear to watch Firth or MacFadyen in those rather pornographic, high-waisted, Georgian trousers, you should really enjoy being able to look at an actor’s face for a change. We know where you should start.

Me: Mmmm, tempting (sees this cover) —-

Richard Armitage and Daniela Denby-Ashe in North & South. Publicity image. Source: BBC

Me: ——- but no.

Netflix: If you’ve been on antibiotics for a month, and your head still feels like it’s going to explode if you move, might we suggest a movie that will, in the future, make you look back with great fondness to the days when you thought you would die of a sinus infection? Because in some ways it was much easier than experiencing Mr. Armitage’s fandom? Watch your step, yes, tickets punched here, sit anywhere you like.

Me: Can I just lie here by my laptop and wish I were dead.

Netflix: Oh, you’ve met him already?

So, this actor?

Wait! Isn’t that how all of this started?

Someday, I’m afraid, someone is going to actually ask me that question. And there will be no answer except “yes.” Without all the details about my life that I am not brave enough to share, allow me to tell you what Mr. Armitage has changed for me, in just a little more than the course of one year.

The Spark

The last six minutes of North and South. Cliché, I know, happened to everyone. I wasn’t so fascinated with him (cough, at that time, cough) but something certainly happened. What?

That uncomfortable moment when you think, “Has anyone EVER looked at me, like that?” followed by, “For sure, no one’s ever kissed me like that!” rear-ended by, “How would it feel to be so connected? Not looked through, or looked past, or overlooked, or missed when you were gone, but seen in the moment. How would it feel for someone to see me like he sees her?” That pileup is succeeded by even more uncomfortable moments during which you look at yourself in a mirror for the first time in years and realize: “Horrible, terrifying and embarrassing, that’s how it would feel, I mean, you’re not much to look at.”

Well, you think, “I can fix that,” only to remember instantly that you’re in your forties and what’s the point?

Later that night you find out that he’s in his forties. What? Well, that can’t be right. Oh yeah, it’s right, and, by the way, now that you’ve started watching interviews, you should really strap on that race-car driver’s harness. How can he be in his forties, he looks so … happy to be there. Hah, he feels twenty-five too! Idiot. We both need to grow up!

Richard Armitage fan art. Source.

The Tinder

Or do we? Why do I think my life is over because I’m forty(-ish)? Why do I see everything just going on like it has? Why can’t I do something different? Somewhere around now, my conscious mind starts replaying the last twenty years. Begins with the responsibilities I’ve shouldered, the time I’ve wasted, the better things I could be doing, the people I know who are doing their things better than I do mine. Then it drops a few choice words into my psyche. Words like selfish, hedonistic, sinful, waste, evil, lecherous, sad, misguided and shameful.

And for the first time in my adult life, I think, “Do I really have to live under all that?” And I look back at that forty-year-old man who cannot seem to stop smiling, even when he’s serious. Those eyes literally shine with excitement, vigor, humor, and the joy of a life he’s worked hard for and achieved. He doesn’t seem to mind that a large chunk of said achievement has come after he turned forty.

And I find myself thinking, “What could I do if I was as happy to be forty as he is?

Not to be confused with “What would I attempt to do if I knew I could not fail?”

(Yes, I have seen the tumblr.)

Richard Armitage, conclusion of principal photography for The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, July 2012.

The Flame

This blog.

If this woman can write down how she feels about Mr. Armitage, day in, day out, and put it out there for the world to see … perhaps I could write something. Perhaps I could get some of these voices out of my head? Perhaps I could still find success in my forties? Maybe I don’t have to feel this way. Maybe I can be happy with myself, maybe I can find that piece I lost. Maybe I do have responsibilities, maybe I’ve made some bad choices. He did too (Between the Sheets, the Cats-era ponytail, wearing leg warmers). He survived. Thrived, even. At least a lot of the foolish things I’ve done aren’t documented, analyzed, and shared on the internet.

Perhaps when Mr. Armitage exhorted his fans to “be willingly good, extra good, extra peaceful and extra forgiving,” he didn’t just mean with each other. Why can’t we start with ourselves? Why can’t we fill our buckets and walk the lines of humanity, sharing our overflow? I think that’s why it looks so effortless for him. He isn’t giving us his last drops. He’s filled and his overflow rains down on our battered, tired, wounded souls. And somehow, we find ourselves lifted. We rediscover a part of ourselves that was put away or taken away years ago. The part that someone in charge didn’t like, or thought wouldn’t be profitable, or told us could never be. That part we loved, that didn’t fit in their plan, we find it and we take it back. And as soon as we claim it, we are gifted with a sudden, visceral understanding of Charlton Heston.

“From my cold, dead hands!”

Mr. Armitage awakened something in me. Something so deeply buried in the drudgery of day to day life that it needed extensive resuscitation, serious mouth-to-mouth. The thing was barely breathing.

It was desire. A desire for myself. A desire to be seen again. A desire to be good, extra good, peaceful and forgiving, to myself. A desire to thrive, not just to survive, not just to take what I’m handed and be thankful. A desire to live my life unapologetically for myself, but also anchored by a drive for excellence, compassion for others, plain human decency, humility, and hard work.

It’s my life; it has to be about me. It just doesn’t have to be about only me.

Richard Armitage, Toronto, December 2012. Source.

The answers?

Why are peaches my favorite fruit?

I love peaches, have since probably before I was born. They are the most perfect fruit on the planet.

Why does eating almost a bushel in one day made me break out in hives?

Unfortunately, I cannot live on peaches alone and when I try, I get sick and a little grouchy and forget to put my bra on.

Why do families live in terror of the words, “mid-life crisis”?

Because change hurts, especially if you don’t want to.

Why was I so unhappy?

My life was about everyone but me.

Why was everyone else so deliriously happy?

See previous answer.

Who loves me?

Not me.

Who did I love?

Anyone who wasn’t me.

What do I love?

Writing and my kids, and sometimes other things, in that order. (Today, anyway. Should I be concerned I put my kids under what, not who?)

How connected are my body and mind?

The change in my mind has had a shocking and wonderful effect on my body, in ways I never imagined or dreamed possible. When they are in tune, the sky’s the limit.

Am I a pervert?

The evidence is piling up in favor. Though Guy hasn’t complained, I think my aunt may never recover. She’s advised me to douse that candle. Sorry, can’t, too damn much fun.

Is it over for me?

It’s just beginning.

What can you never come back from?

Nothing.

Am I the only one?

No.

Can I accept the other ones who see it different than me?

Yes, I can, and I can learn from them and I can adore them in their weirdness, and it’s okay to be a little scared of some of them.

Am I worth anything?

I finally am, to me, and fine with it .

Why him?

Because humility, fearless emotion, decency to your fellow man, and the encouraging of others to share where they’re able excites me. Because now I see what a life, filled with doing what you love, can do for you and how it nurtures everyone around you.

Because I want to give more than the dregs. I want to share the overflow.

The waxed denims and gray cardigans aren’t hurting his case, either.

Thanks, Mr. Armitage, and tell that Army of yours: Well done!

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CarlyQ is the author of the popular fanfics “Iron & Oak” and “Oasis” (at DF). She’s also writing an original story, “The Safety of Solitude.”

~ by Servetus on October 9, 2013.