I was 13 years old when I read Jane Eyre for the first time. And like countless young women before me, I absolutely loved it. I loved Jane’s determination and faith. I loved Rochester’s wildness and passion. Its a wonderful, beautifully told story with just the right amount of gothic darkness to make it more interesting.
But one of my favorite things about the book is one very small aspect that ends up being very important. Rochester talks to Jane about a special connection between people. If I remember correctly, he’s never experienced it but believes that it exists. He talks of a connection between two people that is so strong you feel like you can still feel each other when you are apart, and in some cases your souls can reach out and speak to each other.
At one point in the novel, after they’ve been separated, Jane suddenly hears Rochester’s voice in her mind, clear as day, saying her name and calling out for her. That is when she knows she must go back to him.
Because I am, in my heart of hearts, a hopeless romantic, I have always believed this kind of connection could exist. And because I’ve been very lucky, I have experienced it for myself. Not the actually hearing their voice part but everything else.
So, anyway, I’m in London right now, and it has been the most spectacular thing ever. Everything I needed and more. I’ve seen things I loved before and new things I love just as much.
But last night, as I was laying in bed beside the open bedroom window, something happened. I was listening to the distant sounds of the city, excited for what today would bring, when I heard a voice, clear as day in my head. And it just said my name. That was it. And because I am who I am I immediately thought of Jane Eyre, and because I’m in England I let myself believe it could be true. Just maybe. So I answered back and went to sleep.
Today we went to the Victoria and Albert Museum and the National Portrait Gallery, as well as afternoon tea for my best friend’s birthday. It was the perfect day.