I’m A Newb (And It Shows)

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I should probably say this right at the beginning.

I’ve never actually read Tolkien’s books.

Yes, I heard that gasp.

I’ve started them—more than once. The Lord of the Rings. The Silmarillion. Even a copy of The Hobbit that was gifted to me as a young teen. I’ve opened the covers with reverence, felt the weight of them in my hands, and then life has done what life does best: interrupted me.

Even as I type this, my five-year-old has just wandered in to ask me, very seriously, if I’m aware that some kittens are bigger than other kittens. This feels important to her.
It probably is.

And maybe that’s part of why I’m finally doing this now.

I am not coming to Tolkien as a scholar.
I’m not arriving with footnotes memorized or timelines neatly tucked away in my mind. I am arriving as a beginner. A reader at the threshold. Someone who has loved the idea of these stories for years but is only now giving herself permission to walk the road slowly, openly, and in full view.

This is my first time.

Awkward… I know.

I finally got my first full set of Tolkien anything… four Christmases ago.

I even bought these stunning wooden bookends to hold them because they feel quite hobbity, in my opinion. But it’s taken me until now, the beginning of 2026, to decide that this is what I want to do with my life. This… is important to me.

There are people who know these books inside and out. Who have re-read them for decades. Who speak fluently in references and lore. I honor that deeply. But that is not who I am—at least, not yet.

What I am is a woman who has carried a quiet longing for a very long time. A longing to sit with great stories. To read not to conquer, but to be companioned. To wander rather than to arrive.

I thought I was late.

Too old.
Too busy.
Too interrupted.
Too far behind the people who “really know their stuff.”

But I’m beginning to believe something different.

That maybe the first reading for me is not a flaw.
Maybe it’s a gift.

There is only one moment in a lifetime when you get to read a story for the first time. Only one moment when everything is new, when wonder hasn’t yet been organized or explained away. I’m standing in that moment now, and instead of apologizing for it, I want to honor it.

This space—Under the Party Tree—will be a record of that honoring.

You’ll find awkward observations here. Half-formed thoughts. Questions that don’t yet know what they’re reaching for. You’ll find moments where I pause too long on a single line, and others where I miss something entirely, only to realize it later.

That’s part of the path.

I’m choosing this road not because it’s efficient, but because it’s beautiful. Not because I “should have started sooner”, but because now is when I’m finally listening to the longing that keeps knocking at the door of my heart.

If you’re reading this thinking, I wish I had started that thing years ago—
the book, the craft, the calling, the life you keep postponing—

let this be your permission slip.

You’re not too late.
You’re not too old.
You’re not behind.

You’re just at the beginning of your road. A road that goes ever on and on.

I’ll be walking mine slowly, with books open, interruptions welcomed, and wonder intact. If you’d like to walk alongside me—whether you’re a seasoned reader or a fellow newb—you’re more than welcome here.

There is room under the Party Tree. Join me over on Substack for more posts and glimpses into my life Under the Party Tree.