A memoir bridges the gap
between people, finding connection in the ways we are different yet
still the same. Wild, the incredibly vulnerable story of a young woman's
hike on the Pacific Crest Trail, is such a bridge. We have all had a
burden that was too heavy to bear, found ourselves lost in a wilderness
of grief, and come out the other side with a measure of healing.
This tale begins with a hiking boot, tragically lost, close to the
end of a long and intense journey. A slow-motion boot tumbling from the
top of a ledge - down, down, down until it cannot possibly be retrieved.
Despair is evident and we find ourselves wondering with true curiosity
and concern - what will she do? What would I do? Left to ponder this, we
are taken to the beginning of this story. Back to the time a young
woman decided to hike through California and Oregon, alone.
When Cheryl Strayed was in her mid-20s, her youthful mother lost a
battle to cancer, swift and vicious. A life that had once had some
semblance of order and understanding began to unravel. She was no longer
able to hold her siblings together as a family or even stay in her own
unseasoned marriage. Raw and bitter pain surfaced and played out in
adultery, drugs and reckless behavior. A divorce, an abortion, and an
impulsive choice to hike the newly completed Pacific Crest Trail tumbled
together in a collection of decisive moments.
On the trail, Cheryl is weighed down by an immense sorrow and a 70
pound backpack nicknamed "Monster." She carries other things at the
outset of her trek, quite soon leaving them behind: binoculars, foldable
saw, worn-out memories, former perspectives, sections of beloved books,
burned at their completion to lighten the burdensome load. She
describes herself as "the woman with the hole in her heart." That hole,
emptiness itself, is the most cumbersome of all.
The history of the trail is woven in a beautiful tapestry of Cheryl's
tumultuous past, frayed and ragged present, and hopes for a simple and
unadorned peace. The details that stitch this tale together are
specific, honest, and raw. Dauntless, candidness is what connects reader
and writer. Cheryl develops a narrative that reminds us that "fear, to a
great extent, is the story we tell ourselves."
The pilgrimage beyond grief, to our truest selves, is borne of
wanting. "The wanting was the wilderness and I had to find my own way
out of the woods." Cheryl finished her 1,100 mile-long hike at the
Bridge of the Gods in Oregon. Along the way, there were gifts from
others: peaches, T-shirts, showers, rides, and escapes from imminent
danger, but the gift she gave herself was the adventure, the discovery
of the woman her mother had raised her to be, "from lost to found."
Her
gift to us?
It is this memoir.
This article was originally published in The Canon City Daily Record.
Photo Credit: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51IyLG-dL5L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
I know I am a little behind the times on this one: international bestseller and major motion picture... But I was never really interested in this story. Cancer, young love, international travel... Then - my kids wanted to read it. So I had to read it first. Would this be another Twilight? I knew there would be sex - two teenagers, close to death?? I read Romeo and Juliet. I know what happens.
This was a surprisingly innocent book. Yes, there is a sex scene, but beside stating the color of her underwear and mentioning fumbling with a condom, there was less to this scene than many kissing scenes in other books. I discussed my views on premarital sex, whether or not death is imminent, with my teens and then we talked about the book's quality.
All in all, it was a quick read and an easy plot to follow. We liked the conversations between the characters. They spoke easily and true to who they were. It was a redeeming feature of this tale. But we were not fans of the predictability of the plot, nor did we like the ending - it just seemed like loose ends had to be cauterized quickly to prevent the story from bleeding out.
There were some quotes from the book I enjoyed, though.
Neither novels nor their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the fundamental assumption of our species.
The weird thing about houses is that they almost alwsys look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives.
Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.
What happened to them? They all ceased to exist the moment the novel ended.
Some infinities are larger than other infinities.
Grief does not change you... it reveals you.
I am glad I read this with my children. It covered important topics to talk about with teenagers, things that rest heavy on their minds.
book cover image fromhttp://www.amazon.com/The-Fault-Stars-John-Green/dp/014242417X
