Bear with me as I write this.
I’m a total and complete Outlander fan, but the words I’m going to write aren’t because I swoon every time I hear James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser utter the word Sassenach.
No, my words are about why I’ve connected so fervently with the series, and then the books, a mere 5 months ago, and why I now fully immerse myself in everything and anything having to do with Outlander.
Ready?
So the premise of Outlander is that Claire, a nurse circa WW2, goes on a second honeymoon to the Scottish Highlands with her husband Frank, as they connect again after each serving in different capacities during WW2. On a lone hill she finds a circle of standing stones, and kneels to pick the forget me nots that bloom at the base of the tallest one. She places her hand against the stone and is hurled through time and space to the past, waking to find herself in the Scottish Highlands of 1743. Ultimately she meets a Highland warrior…clad in kilt and boots *my heart rate is going up even as I write this.*
The story goes on through 8 books and 5 seasons, as Claire initially attempts to return to her life in modern times, and her husband, Frank. Even as she falls more and more in love with Jamie. Is she a widow or not, she wonders? Is Frank alive in the future, which isn’t here yet because it’s 200 years earlier than where he is? Which life is real, when both are real?
You might ask how Outlander relates to my widowed life?
In the first episode, as she wakens in 1743 Scotland, as the standing stone spits her out into the past, Claire is confused, shell shocked, disoriented, frightened…all the emotions I remember from early widowhood, and more. The life she knew has disappeared. She has no recognition of where she is. None.
How familiar is this feeling? I didn’t place my hand against a standing stone, but Chuck’s death sent me spinning into a new life through time and space that held nothing familiar to me. None.
Claire quickly finds herself in the midst of a pitched battle between English soldiers and Scottish warriors, rifle fire blasting around her, screams and shouts and war cries dinning the air. So she runs, with no particular destination in mind, needing only to get away from it.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to just run. Escape this life that is so strange and unfamiliar. Escape the reality of living without our one person who knew us better than anyone else. I still fight with myself, many times, wanting to just get in my car, hitch up my trailer, and drive somewhere. Anywhere. Wherever Chuck is. Even though he’s nowhere to be found.
The concept of time that plays out in Outlander is fascinating to me.
Past and present and where they converge, or not.
The violent hurtling through space, as we come to terms with the cold, hard reality of death and the now of our lives.
Even as the past lives so presently in our hearts and we try to balance that out with what our minds know to be true; the gone-ness.
Living in one life even when the past is so real to us and we create futures for ourselves in this life…oftentimes while not even believing in a future. Our minds and hearts want to return us to a past that exists only in memory.
It’s a clusterfuck, as Chuck would say.
Outlander, though.
It’s reminded me of the Scottish roots that meant so much as I grew up. Studying Scottish history on my own -yes, I’m that total history nerd. Tracing my Scottish roots. Marrying a man who was pipe major in a Scottish bagpipe band in a tartaned out wedding ceremony. Becoming a Highland dancer.
Chuck and I often attended Scottish gatherings in our years together. We loved going to renaissance faires and we discussed buying him a kilt and plaid and boots and had just begun seriously looking when the first cancer got him, and then the second one that killed him.
Outlander guided me back to my Scottish roots and all that I loved long before life happened, and it’s brought me comfort and eased me as I watch the Love story play out between Jamie and Claire. Jamie reminds me of Chuck in so many ways. Lord help him, if Chuck were still alive, I’d pester him to kilt himself out on the daily.
I’m all about living out a fantasy life, even if only in my mind. When Chuck was alive and now that he’s dead. When he was alive, he kind of sort of indulged that part of me; he got a kick out of it, honestly. And certainly reaped the benefits of it…
Outlander helps me do that now.
As a measure of helping me deal with the mind fuck of Chuck’s death, I imagine that I’ve placed my hand on a standing stone that has hurled me into a Universe that I don’t recognize. One where I feel dislocated and disoriented and have to make a life for myself because it’s what I have and where I am.
But maybe somewhere in Time…a thing that is defined only by my own learned social construct…maybe somewhere in time, in another Universe, Chuck is still alive.
I suppose the question, for me, is…is it real where I am or where he is?
Outlander.
It’s got everything I need to get me through this mindfuck of widowhood.
And now…back to watching another episode, again, while keeping the book open next to me. After which I’ll listen to an Outlander podcast while skimming Outlander fb fan pages.
Whatever gets us through it all…aye?