In December I made two trips to Ohio, where I was born and raised, to see my family.
The first, I had hoped, would be a quiet trip to visit only my immediate family and my grandparents in order to be there for them in a time of sorrow and pain. The second I had hoped not to make, as Christmas for me was a holiday with a very deep and quiet need — a holiday where I needed more than ever before to be safe and secure within my own home, tending to my emotional wounds.
Feeling the pull of family concerns and the desire to be there for everyone in my extended family, I did make the second trip, however. But I was hurting in the moments when I decided to go, when I booked my flights, and when the airline connections were delayed for more than two hours on each end of my trip.
Aside from the fulfilling act of being there for loved ones in Ohio, the one great thing that did come out of my trip came in the form of literature.
An episode with new fiction
Fortunately, before I even got on the plane, I felt compelled to find a book to read while suspended in flight. This may sound normal, but I am not a huge reader. I only read books that steal my attention right away, without faltering, and I rarely read anything but magazines on a plane. In fact, I usually use my time in the sky to write poetry or make entries in my journal.
I also knew at the time that the book I might bring could not be just any book. It needed to be real, the messages ringing true and the quality of the literature rare.
Matt and I went to a bookstore for just this purpose. I ran to all of my old standbys — cynical, satirical books by authors that one bookseller described as “Crazy.” I read frantically down the front and back covers of the books, looking for references to similar authors or other authors altogether. Instead longing for something entirely different, I tried picking up the most inspiring book-turned-to-movie that I knew of, then reading that book’s front and back covers for similar authors.
All to no avail.
We were about to leave, and I was on the verge of giving up, when we saw a book by the author that would fit the part. The title instantly grabbed something deep inside of me: “The World As We Know It.” And when I read the book’s front and back covers to learn about the author, I found that he had published a book before this one.
“Eternal on the Water”
By Joseph Monninger, the book follows one man as he ventures to kayak “Ninety-two miles alone on a river.” Being the nature lover that I am, it was an instant hit with me, and by pitting the protagonist against challenges of love and death, the author immediately engaged me in a deep and meaningful way.
I read the book cover-to-cover during my late December trip, and I came home feeling refreshed and renewed. I was tired and haggard from a brutal trip to Ohio, which found me searching for a hotel in the country after canceling plans with my host due to flight delays, then spending unexpected time with my beloved grandfather in a hospital. But in spite of all that, I had achieved a state of inner peace and calm.
The book, “Eternal on the Water,” was full of little messages bursting with meaning. There were thoughts on love, on life, and on loss, all within a greater context of finding meaning in your life. And the novel spoke to me.
“Hurry gradually.”
That is the advice the narrator gave himself as he ventured to kayak through white rapids and freezing waters down the Allagash River in Maine.
As if to say: Be swift, be purposeful with your life, but be gentle with your spirit. Take things one day at a time.
And though my New Year in 2012 has been devoid of resolutions and much different than what I expected, that is exactly what I am going to try to do. I am going to make an effort to go forward in life, to attempt to realize my dreams, even as a large part of who I am must be left behind.
The first, I had hoped, would be a quiet trip to visit only my immediate family and my grandparents in order to be there for them in a time of sorrow and pain. The second I had hoped not to make, as Christmas for me was a holiday with a very deep and quiet need — a holiday where I needed more than ever before to be safe and secure within my own home, tending to my emotional wounds.
Feeling the pull of family concerns and the desire to be there for everyone in my extended family, I did make the second trip, however. But I was hurting in the moments when I decided to go, when I booked my flights, and when the airline connections were delayed for more than two hours on each end of my trip.
Aside from the fulfilling act of being there for loved ones in Ohio, the one great thing that did come out of my trip came in the form of literature.
An episode with new fiction
Fortunately, before I even got on the plane, I felt compelled to find a book to read while suspended in flight. This may sound normal, but I am not a huge reader. I only read books that steal my attention right away, without faltering, and I rarely read anything but magazines on a plane. In fact, I usually use my time in the sky to write poetry or make entries in my journal.
I also knew at the time that the book I might bring could not be just any book. It needed to be real, the messages ringing true and the quality of the literature rare.
Matt and I went to a bookstore for just this purpose. I ran to all of my old standbys — cynical, satirical books by authors that one bookseller described as “Crazy.” I read frantically down the front and back covers of the books, looking for references to similar authors or other authors altogether. Instead longing for something entirely different, I tried picking up the most inspiring book-turned-to-movie that I knew of, then reading that book’s front and back covers for similar authors.
All to no avail.
We were about to leave, and I was on the verge of giving up, when we saw a book by the author that would fit the part. The title instantly grabbed something deep inside of me: “The World As We Know It.” And when I read the book’s front and back covers to learn about the author, I found that he had published a book before this one.
“Eternal on the Water”
By Joseph Monninger, the book follows one man as he ventures to kayak “Ninety-two miles alone on a river.” Being the nature lover that I am, it was an instant hit with me, and by pitting the protagonist against challenges of love and death, the author immediately engaged me in a deep and meaningful way.
I read the book cover-to-cover during my late December trip, and I came home feeling refreshed and renewed. I was tired and haggard from a brutal trip to Ohio, which found me searching for a hotel in the country after canceling plans with my host due to flight delays, then spending unexpected time with my beloved grandfather in a hospital. But in spite of all that, I had achieved a state of inner peace and calm.
The book, “Eternal on the Water,” was full of little messages bursting with meaning. There were thoughts on love, on life, and on loss, all within a greater context of finding meaning in your life. And the novel spoke to me.
“Hurry gradually.”
That is the advice the narrator gave himself as he ventured to kayak through white rapids and freezing waters down the Allagash River in Maine.
As if to say: Be swift, be purposeful with your life, but be gentle with your spirit. Take things one day at a time.
And though my New Year in 2012 has been devoid of resolutions and much different than what I expected, that is exactly what I am going to try to do. I am going to make an effort to go forward in life, to attempt to realize my dreams, even as a large part of who I am must be left behind.
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