Friday, September 19, 2008

The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're going to try to see it.

A few summers ago... five summers ago to be exact, I stayed in Omaha in between semesters to intern at an ad agency. Because I'm innately shy and pretty severely introverted (I've only recently learned the value of talking to coworkers), I would spend every lunch break in my car, listening to the City Club forum and eating a PBJ, as women from the various banks and other ambiguously corporate entities in the area power walked around me. A few months prior, I'd purchased David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, only to leave it sitting on the shelf where I would visit it from time to time, imagining the day when I would have enough strength to lift it (it weighs as much as a baby or cat) and enthusiasm to read it. So, after chewing to NPR for a few weeks, I decided to tackle the impossible. And every day after that I would read about three pages over the course of an hour, the majority of the time spent trying to find my place again after getting distracted by a bird or a power walker or the booming sounds of Dodge St. construction. To put it lightly, the book is a behemoth. It is long. The print is small. The pages are bible-thin, and it is written in a stream-of-consciousness style that make the thoughts of a five-year-old seem organized and concise. Long story short, I gave it my all... I tried for a month or so. I made a dent, but I never, ever finished it. Since then, I've carted it around to every duplex and city I've moved to, hoping to eventually dive in again. If I'm going to be honest with myself, it probably won't happen, but it's kind of comforting having it nearby. Like knowing there's goodness inside is satisfaction enough...

When I learned that David Foster Wallace had died (a week ago today), I read a little more about him, I stared at the lurking book... and today I found the commencement speech he gave the class of '05 at Kenyon College. I didn't go to Kenyon, but that's my year, my generation, and his speech struck more of a chord than I expected. The power of perspective is immense, and while no one should be OK with mediocrity, everyone should try a little harder to accept what cannot be changed (at least immediately) and turn it into an opportunity for growth. I say everyone... at least I mean me. I don't think life is short (short compared to what?) but it's still not worth wasting the time we do have on bitterness or regret. Enough. Read.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

This will probably make no sense to you:
Sometimes I feel like we are simultaneously moving through life doing the exact same things, and feeling the exact same way and we never really knew each other. Please don't be wigged out, because I know that is so bizzare (if not creepy) sounding. Once, when facebook was a zygote, I think I tried to tell you that based on our profiles (if that doesn't scream "NERD", I don't know what does). Then I went back and read my profile and realized that I was probably just reading yours and comparing it to what was in my head. So maybe you just have to trust me.
For good measure: I'm eating a raisin bagel, enjoying the fact that it's raining, and counting down the seconds to the Californication premiere on Sunday. My guess is, you're doing the exact same thing.

Catherine said...

It makes complete sense. I have the same recollection of reading your profile (years ago, when we were in college and on the cutting edge of what's now a worldwide phenomenon) and feeling comforted knowing there is someone out there who shares the same strange array of interests and fascinations. So I will trust you, but I also believe you... and in my parallel universe, I'm counting down the minutes until I can go home, eat a pita (which may or may involve hummus) and fire up Sunday night's episode of Mad Men (that is my Californication).

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