Four Books and Twelve Differences

Four Books

Close to my house was a bookstore. Just as you walk in, on the left, was a magazine rack. One day I saw this face on a magazine cover. An interesting face. I picked it up, and read about a new book this face had written called “A River Runs Through It”.

His name was Norman Mclean, an English teacher at the University of Chicago. They didn’t have it in yet, so I had to wait. It was worth it. They made a movie about it years later, but I liked the book better. In one chapter he wrote, “Eventually all things merge into one…”.

Six words.

It was the dark blue cover that caught my eye. It was called “Siddhartha”. I had no idea what it was about. The title was interesting. I liked the sound it made when I said it. I bought it, and I’ve probably read the last chapter a dozen times.

Over the next few months, I read quite a few of Hesse’s books. Years later, at an IT conference in Florida, I heard a speaker quote something from one of those books.

I still remember smiling.

I was skipping class one day when I saw a old, tattered paperback in the back of the local bookstore. It was called “The Hobbit”. What’s a hobbit?

Over the next year, I read almost everything Tolkien had ever written about hobbits. I was fascinated. This world filled with elves, dwarves, wizards, and dragons (and hobbits) was captivating, addictive. One ring to rule them all. Decades later, as I watched the Peter Jackson movies, it all came back.

I was in Middle Earth again.

Once after a long day working a dead-end job in Texas, I heard a loud booing on the television. I turned to watch an audience yelling at Ayn Rand. How odd. I had just finished reading one of her books called “Atlas Shrugged”. John Galt, Dagny Taggart, Francisco d’Anconia. Great book. Great characters.

She was taking questions and the audience didn’t like her answers. At the time, I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

I do now.

Those, and most all of the other books I’ve read left a memory like that. Some are stronger than others, but all of the words, from all those books, have in a way become a part of me. They had an impact. Changed me a little. Turned my head.

It’s a strange thing, all those words. They just appear sometimes. I’ll be stuck trying to make a decision when suddenly I’ll remember a quote or phrase offering advice and direction.

Sometimes when I need it the most.

Twelve Differences

It’s not just what books I’ve read. It’s more than that of course. This person I’ve become.

When and where I was born. The teachers and friends I’ve had. That made a difference.

Being chased by someone with a gun and living to tell about it. Being in a motorcycle wreck and looking at the scars it left behind. That made a difference.

Playing my guitar and watching people sing my songs. Being lied to and being the liar. That made a difference.

OK… that’s enough.

A blink of a life

Four books and twelve differences. It’s nothing really. Not enough to know someone. Not enough to trust or believe something they say. And yet, probably more than I know about most people.

I think about that when I watch the news or read something. Why should I believe what they’re saying? Why are they saying it? What do I know about them?

I don’t know a blink.

I’m trying to stop that. Trying to stop reaching conclusions that might not be true. Conclusions that have consequences. I’m trying to slow down enough to consider the uncomfortable possibility that I might be wrong.

We all hate being wrong. Consequences from all the things we’ve believed in stack up over time. If we’re wrong, there’s a lot to be accountable for. So, we won’t admit it. It’s just too hard. Of course, that has consequences too.

Sometimes worse than what we’re trying to avoid.

Maybe it’s time to blink…