On Hobbits and Happiness

Often, when one of my friends is off to do something exciting or unknown, I’ll ask them, “On a scale from Bilbo to Gandalf, how do you feel?

Bilbo, of course, is the main hobbit in The Hobbit. He likes the comfortable life—good food served promptly at meal times in warm, dry, comfortable spaces, preferably home. Gandalf, of course, is the wizard who tramps around inciting adventure and danger and general excitement everywhere he goes, convincing others to tramp along with him. This, of course, is how Bilbo ends up hungry on the other side of the world, in lots of cold, wet, uncomfortable spaces and has a lovely adventure.

Bilbo right, Gandalf left, The Fellowship of the Ring, 2001.

Sometimes I am the wizard, sometimes I am the hobbit. Sometimes I spend days on AirBnB or hop last on a last minute flight, go on sporadic six hour hikes or wander around unknown cities looking for speakeasies. Other times, like a few weeks ago when I was on a plane to Aruba, my inner hobbit kicks in.

“What does that mean?” Austin asked when I told him.

“It means I really would love to be home under a blanket with tea right now. I’m not sure why I ever choose to be not be at home under a blanket with tea.”

While I can be Gandalf, I tend towards Bilbo. Way back in 2013, several blogs ago, I wrote, “I don't really want to go change the world, to be honest with you. I want to want to. I want to be like my dad and see mountains and think, ‘Man, I want to climb that.’ But I see mountains and I think, ‘Man, that's beautiful. Let's have a picnic! I brought apples.’"

In a lot of ways, I like this about me. My hobbitness means that I am easily contented. Hand me a cup of tea and a blanket, and I’m a warm, glowy sort of happy. A great night out on the town for me involves a walk down to the Brookline Booksmith, some sort of Asian food, and a nice long people watching session in the park. I know how to joy in little things.

Sometimes, though, my inner hobbit is less joyful and more fearful. It’s less focused on the small-splendored delights of the world and more focused on the many, many things that could go wrong. On the flight to Aruba, it said, “You’ve never been here before! What if you get lost! What if it’s bad, and it was your idea, so then it’s your fault! What if you get very sick and you have to go to the hospital but your insurance doesn’t work there and you have to pay thousands of dollars in an unknown place while you’re throwing up so much you’re dehydrated and Austin worries about you!” My fearful hobbit ends questions not with question marks but with exclamation points. Everything is a reason to panic.

I like the hobbit in me, but I wish it was balanced a little more by Gandalf. I wish that, when hobbit happiness moved to hobbit fear, the Gandalf part of me would step in and say something helpful like, “even the very wise cannot see all ends” (or, possibly, a solid pep talk, like "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor!”). I just want them to talk to each other, to balance each other out.

I think Jesus likes the hobbit in me. He who advised, “Consider the lilies of the field,” probably likes that I open the windows to hear the rain and thunder better. While adventurers and extroverts are the most oft celebrated among us, I think Jesus, who often wandered away from crowds for a little peace and quiet and seemed happiest in the houses of his close friends, gets those of us who would prefer a good book to a wild night out. But Jesus also told the parable of the talents, wherein the servant who refuses to risk things is punished for failing to exercise his agency, for failing to get out and do.

For everything there is a time and season. I do want to be more Gandalf. I’m glad we went to Aruba, and I will be glad when we make it to Canada and Mexico and Harry Potter World and London, even though all of those trips will involve discomfort and practicing unknowing. But I never want to shame the hobbit in me. When faced with the a choice between happy and comfortable, I want to choose happy, and I know I choose comfortable too often.

But often there’s a choice that is both happy and comfortable—like yesterday, when it rained all day and Austin was sick and my only venture out of the apartment was acquiring crusty bread to go with the soup that we’d had simmering since morning. The hobbit in me was happy, but I think Gandalf was too, and had Jesus been around yesterday, I think he would have really enjoyed the soup.