Last week I loaded Harry Potter and the Cursed Child onto my kindle app, excited to read it on the train ride to my parents’. I didn’t expect it to live up to the original series or anything, but I figured it would be a fun read, and what could be a more perfect place to read Harry Potter than a train? In my head, I was basically rocking Platform 9 3/4.
I’m not gonna lie–the first couple pages had me cringing a bit. The dialogue felt a little clunky, and I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to get into it…. But the plot picked up quickly, and I felt myself getting sucked into the adventure. I kept reading. It was like when you see an old friend after years apart, and it’s a little awkward as you’re trying to figure out this new person. You kind of see glimpses of the person you remember, but aren’t completely sure whether you’re still friends… But then you work through the awkward and find your new rhythm, because you remember how much you actually love each other. That was me and the Hogwarts gang. They’ve changed, and I’ve changed, but being reunited feels so good.
I didn’t fully appreciate just how appropriate the time and place was for reading this new Harry Potter, though, until the next day as I read the last few pages. By that point, I wasn’t just reading for plot anymore; I was fully wrapped up in the humanity and heart that our wizard friends offer, feeling all the feels. Suddenly, I realized that I was sitting in the exact same spot–my bedroom at my parents’ house–as the last time I read a brand new Harry Potter book.
When I both eagerly and reluctantly read the last in the original series, it was July 2007, and I was a hot mess. My parents had just moved from the only house my family had ever lived in. I’d just graduated and left BYU. Being a person who doesn’t handle change well, it really threw me to be uprooted from all the places, and most of the people, I’d ever known as “home,” all at the same time. I was interviewing for jobs, but didn’t know where or if I’d land. The future was a foggy black hole. I had a shiny new teaching degree, so I was interviewing for teaching jobs, but I’d hated student teaching. I wasn’t at all convinced that I had what it takes to be a decent teacher, and I was pretty sure I’d never be happy doing it. But what are you supposed to do when you’ve just invested five years and a zillion dollars into a degree you then think was a mistake? Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was a great way to escape reality for a day or two. But then it ended, just like every other era in my life had just ended. Did I mention I was a hot mess?
A couple days after finishing Deathly Hallows, I interviewed with Whitford. The job was different than all the others I’d been applying for, but it also felt so much more right. I wanted that job. And I got that job.
And then I blinked, and it was 2016, and I was back in that same room, reading Harry Potter. There was never going to be more to Harry’s story, but it turns out “never” was a strong word. (I prefer #always anyway…)
I was never going to make it in teaching, but here I am, about to start year ten, and I’ve done more than just survive teaching. I’ve lived it, slept it, and breathed it. I’ve found passions and areas of growing expertise within my teaching world that I never would have guessed. I’ve amassed a list of hundreds of kids–not all of them such kids anymore–who I love dearly. I can confidently say that I’ve made a difference for at least some. I laugh every day. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake…
I was afraid I’d never find a place that felt like home again. But I dropped my roots onto Oregon soil, and they like it there. It’s still a struggle sometimes to be alone and feel like I actually belong in a place with no family. But it’s a really good place, filled with really good people. I have communities that I’m grateful and proud to be part of. I have friends and connections that I treasure. And as half the country, unfortunately, seems to have discovered, Portland is just really cool!
I was sure that my parents’ new house in the middle of nowhere was never going to be home…. and, well, that’s still mostly true. I can’t visit without getting homesick for our real home. But, funny thing, becoming an aunt has helped a little. There’s been life and memories attached to the house now. That’s where I spent hours cuddling those sweet babies. I just spent a week hiding, seeking, and running around like a crazy person with my cutie pie niece in all random corners of the house. This is a house they’ll look back on nostalgically someday when they’re remembering their own childhood. My 2007 self didn’t imagine ever caring much about the next generation in Harry Potter’s world. And had no idea how deeply in love I’d be nine years later with the next generation in my own family.
The first time I finished Harry Potter forever at my parents’ house, I couldn’t see where my life was about to go, and it terrified me. This time, as I finished the turns-out-it-wasn’t-forever Harry Potter, I had to smile about all the unexpected directions it’s taken. If I had been able to see my future, I wouldn’t have recognized it. How could I have recognized the 32-year-old version of myself who would color her hair like a peacock, earn an IMDb page, become a minister-by-the-powers-of-the-internet, write stuff on a blog that eleventy billion people would read, and occasionally ask herself if life in Nebraska would be so bad? (Ok, there aren’t that many regular readers of my blog…. But some days it feels like it.) And who knew that version of me would be reading a new Harry Potter book?
Life is weird. I should stop trying to predict it.