“Why rogue?” he insisted with Mrs. Mountstuart.
“I said—in porcelain,” she replied.
“Rogue perplexes me.”
“Porcelain explains it.”
“She has the keenest sense of honour.”
“I am sure she is a paragon of rectitude.”
“She has a beautiful bearing.”
“The carriage of a young princess!”
“I find her perfect.”
“And still she may be a dainty rogue in porcelain.”
-The Egoist, George Meredith
Ever since my first perusal of George Meredith’s incredible study of human nature in The Egoist, I have been enamored with this idea that a woman can be all things right on the exterior, and yet harbor an interior more befitting of a rogue. Having spent the majority of my life, trying to fit into the impossible porcelain mold, I find an incredible freedom in the idea of embracing the rogue in me as well.
I have this need to dabble in the art of being who I am not. Sometimes it leads to a discovery of who I am, and sometimes it simply underscores the truth that I am in many ways a complacent person. Complacence can be a cancer, inhibiting me, misdirecting me, keeping me from the discoveries that I believe my Maker has for me. He wants me to explore this uninhibited part of life [insert line about only really knowing the light when you’re in the dark]. Through the contrasts of life experiences, I become more open-minded and more open to everything this earth has to offer – both what I can and can’t explain.
That’s why I savor the path of the rogue. For those tiny glimpses of the excitement that only rogues can experience, I shuck my porcelain exterior. And even if it’s short-lived, I feel that it is a small sort of accomplishment.