My life now, my whole life, regardless of all that may happen to me, every minute of it, is not only not meaningless, as it was before, but has the unquestionable meaning of the good which it is in my power to put into it!
I have pondered the finishing sentence of Anna Karenina for a good few weeks now and I still know not what to make of it. Not entirely anyway. Levin's bane throughout the novel was the simplicity and impulsiveness of his notions – but it is this very simple and abrupt candor of the statement that ultimately grants it charm. Intellectuals possess the habit of lounging about, discussing the mysteries of life, the universe, and everything to no avail (of course), shooting one another up with an endless supply of ego so that they may feel better about themselves and their 'superior' thought processes. These very intellectuals condemned Levin on every possible occasion and you, the reader, find yourself criticizing the protagonist despite his innate goodness.
The conclusion of Anna then takes an elegant tumble and Levin, though still spontaneous and experiencing ridiculous bouts of temporary optimism, grasps a solution. At last. I do believe I was excited for the man. He realizes, as I have lately realized, that his happiness does not depend on a higher category of mental stimulation, but living his own life, not what is generally expected of him or, more importantly, what he thought he expected of himself. This epiphany did not strike me personally until now as I type.
I expect too much of people and my own ability and person and feel somehow obligated to label myself a cold and judgmental elitist with grand opinions and tastes. Don't ask me how that works, I really don't know. Perhaps my disgust for stupidity drove me towards such a persona. My concluding point though, is while I still enjoy having intellectual conversations and finer tastes, it is not who I am exclusively. Duh.
I love life. I'm glad mine is about to start.
