Nightly To Walden

I have never been to Walden Pond.

That confession is an easy admission. I've admitted maybe too many things on this blog but few bother me. This next one though leaves me feeling uneasy and I worry about people finding out. I may have kind of led people to believe otherwise. And so I pause a moment before telling you this:

I have never read Henry David Thoreau's Walden.

It's one of those books I should have already read, that I should know, and that should be a foundation for me. Yet, I haven't read it. I've started it several times and I've read sections of it for a class way back in college, enough so that I wrote a good paper about it. I've read of it many times, admiring the book, the writer, and the writers writing about it. All of which is to say that I know Walden by proxy but have never read the damn thing and every time I start reading it (with nothing but the best intentions), I get distracted and intimidated by the task. I quit. I quit. I quit every single time because it feels like too much.

So I'm reading it now one page per night.

Each night before turning out the light, I open Walden and read one page. I follow the last sentence onto the next page but stop as soon as I can. The next night I re-read from the top of the page (or the bottom of the previous page) and end when I have finished that one page.

It is slow going but what else should a trip to Walden Pond be but slow and deliberate?

At this rate I don't expect to finish Walden until 2019. I hope I make it all the way to the end and maybe turn back to page one and begin again. If nothing else, I hope to enjoy the journey taken slowly as if on foot from Concord to Fitchburg. Going slow, I want to remember that I've long wanted to make my home in a tiny shack near water. For one page a night that's just what I'll be doing. If you need me, I'll be at Walden Pond. Stop by any time.

Choose The World You're In

Austin Kleon wrote a piece today worth reading entitled The World's More Interesting With You In It. The gist is that we are too eager to delete/unfollow people and all too willing to take ourselves out of the world. It got me thinking about having left social media.

I left Facebook and Twitter in August and have not gone back. Kleon writes, "Don’t disappear on us. Don’t cancel your own subscription. Stick around. Keep going. The world is more interesting with you in it." He's not necessarily encouraging me to return to social media, but I've been told that there are people who miss me some on those platforms. Should I try to make Facebook and Twitter better places? Is there value in me doing that?

The problems with Facebook and Twitter are that I don't respect their corporate values and they don't provide me sufficient value for my investment. I don't "connect" with "friends" and "followers" as much having left those networks but I'm working on that finding ways to connect with friends and make new friends. I've only made the slightest headway but it's a work in progress.

Withdrawing from the world might be a mistake though I've read a couple good books that say otherwise. Thoreau, who famously moved away from the world but also stayed in contact with it is a model of how to move in a direction that goes against or perpendicular to that which most everyone is following seems to me a very good idea. We have to choose our worlds carefully.

I'm happy to have deleted myself from Twitter and Facebook. I'm happy to no longer be in that world because it was a source of more unhappiness than contentment. Here in the real world I withdraw often in order to create something that I then bring back to the world, to others and, I hope, make this world a little bit more interesting.

Susceptible to Alcoholic Stories

I'm reading Kristi Coulter's book of personal essays Nothing Good Can Come From This and I recommend it with only one caveat.

First the recommendation. Coulter is a good writer who can make serious and humorous work within the same essay, often within the same paragraph, sometimes she pulls it off in the same sentence. Her voice is honest and strong. She does not preach. If anything, she might be a bit too self-deprecating but uses it to good humorous effect. The pieces are of varying lengths and that turns out to be one of my favorite attributes of a good book of essays. David Sedaris's Calypso had some of that, but I'm especially fond of Coulter's use of the short essay within this book. Her pacing and storytelling are spot on. It's a good, good read that she has crafted.

Now the caveat: you may come to think you're an alcoholic. Or maybe that's just me. Often when reading stories of alcoholics — and for all sorts of reasons I love to read stories of alcoholics — I become convinced that I am one of them and consider getting myself to a meeting. Then I come to the conclusion that I'm not an alcoholic and that mostly I want to observe an AA meeting because they fascinate me. Using imagined alcoholism to get into a meeting sounds even more pathetic than I'm usually willing to be so I dismiss the idea.

Dismissing it gets me thinking that I'm probably just rationalizing my own alcoholism or trying to imagine it away. Then I think that's ridiculous and I'm fine, but there's no way to say "I don't have a drinking problem" that doesn't lead everyone to scrunch up their faces and say, "yeah, you do." This gets me wanting to go into excruciating detail about my drinking and explain every bit of it. Not that that sounds defensive. No, not at all. Don't worry, I'll spare you all that.

I suppose just thinking about this is good for me in the same way that I think about depression while still believing that if I suffer from real depression it is of the mildest kind. Writing about whether I may or may not be alcoholic here in public feels like a mistake, but as Neko Case sings, "I do my best, but I'm made of mistakes." Besides, much of the appeal of Coulter's book (and most any good memoir) is reading about someone's mistakes. It makes me feel as though I'm in a bigger club than the one I often feel I'm in and which has only a single member.

Nothing Good Can From This applies to me trying to explain how I do or don't suffer from alcoholic tendencies, but it might be a misnomer for the book from which flows a fountain of good things. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to reading it and drinking a cup of black coffee. I may wonder if the coffee is so I can feel like I'm at a meeting, but that will only last a few moments into the reading because, like I said, this book is good.

Go to your local bookstore right now and buy it.

Possessing Harriet at Syracuse Stage

Went last night to Syracuse Stage to see the world premiere of Possessing Harriet. It's just good to attend the theater, to see actors working in person, and to be largely uninterrupted for almost two hours. My youngest daughter and I attended the show and it was good, had us talking afterward, and will have us still thinking about it today.

The show is described in this way:

In 1839, Harriet Powell, a young, mixed-race, enslaved woman slips away from a hotel in Syracuse, New York, and escapes from the Southerner who owns her. With the aid of a mysterious free black man named Thomas Leonard, Harriet finds temporary safe harbor in an attic room at the home of impassioned abolitionist Gerrit Smith. With the slave catchers in pursuit, Harriet spends the hours before her nighttime departure on the dangerous journey to Canada in the company of Smith’s young cousin Elizabeth Cady, an outspoken advocate for women’s equality. Confronted with new and difficult ideas about race, identity, and equality, and with confusion, fear, and desperation multiplying, Harriet is forced to the precipice of radical self-re-imagination and a reckoning with the heartrending cost of freedom.

It was a good show, but I hope it will change and grow as it is produced elsewhere. There was more speech making than I would have liked and I kept being reminded that I was watching a play. The medium made itself too apparent when I wished to be enmeshed in the story.

That said, I recommend the show as a reflection not just on our past but as a reminder of the discrimination based on race, gender, creed, and more that is as prevalent today. As was the case with abolitionism, these things are not discussed enough in our parlors because they are deemed impolite and impolitic. The show, without reaching, is commentary on our current situation and the disaster of our current leadership.

Possessing Harriet reminded me that believing something is wrong and doing something to make it right are very different things. It had me feeling some shame for not doing more.