The Ragged Edge of the Universe

I guess now is as good a time as any to explain the origin of this blog's title. And, since I haven't yet received photos from last night's Valkenberg performance, it'll make a nice filler post until tomorrow.

Since high school, I've had a particular attachment to F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby." The novel lies at the root of my passion for writing, as both an annually revisited source of inspiration and the catalyst for my pursuit of a career in journalism. My junior AP English teacher, Jennifer Montgomery, first approached me about my writing strengths after reading my analytical essay on "The Great Gatsby." The essay scored me Monte's attention as a sort of mentor and, after the dominoes fell, a position as co-editor of the Bismarck High School Hi-Herald my senior year (Monte was also the school's journalism adviser).

Now to address my emotional connection to Fitzgerald's masterpiece. I've always felt a close kinship with two characters in "The Great Gatsby." The first is the novel's title character, Jay Gatsby. A hopeless romantic, a nostalgia-prone loner in a sea of socialites. To be honest, I've often refused to "get over" past relationships in the hopes of creating a Daisy Buchanan of my own. But I probably share more in common with Peter Pan than Jay Gatsby, until you reach the turn in Gatsby's character. Gatsby is not Gatsby at all, but James Gatz. Born and raised in North Dakota, Gatz reinvented himself upon reaching adulthood, thinking to put his origins behind him. Though I've embraced the fact that I'm from North Dakota, I've often caught myself struggling for a similar reinvention. I recognize the same desire to become more in the world than my beginnings, to reach for a more glamorous future. Like Gatsby, I guess I wrestle with the shame of that desire on a daily basis.

The second and stronger kinship is Nick Carraway. The story's narrator and a fellow of Midwestern roots, Nick finds himself thrust into the unfamiliar surroundings of Eastern high society when he meets Gatsby. Nick cares too much, sees through too much of the foolishness around him to belong to the world Gatsby has planted himself in. An outsider, not sure if he really belongs anywhere, be it Yale or East Egg or the battlefields of WWI. And while I've grown attached to Missoula over the past four and a half years, I can't help feeling the same way. The town is great, the friends are fantastic, but do I really belong here? What, besides school, will be my lasting connection to this place? The parties, the pot, the "Keep Missoula Weird" bumper stickers remain foreign to a simple Midwesterner. Like Nick, I guess I'm the square peg trying to fit into the hippie hole. With every annual read I step into Nick Carraway's shoes without stepping out of my own, and it brings about moments of reflection.

So, the name of my blog. It stems from a quote by Nick Carraway, summing up his youthful adventures and seeking to explain the move east that lands him on Jay Gatsby's doorstep:

"... I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe."