I came upon a copy of Into the Wild, and I read it. In good and bad ways, the story will not leave my head.
I have found, in my post-reading research, that there are two kinds of reactions in response to what Chris McCandless did:
He was an arrogant, stupid idiot who had a death wish and got what he deserved and people shouldn’t glorify his actions.
He didn’t lie to himself, he lived his search, and though it meant his life was shortened, it was longer than most people will ever experience.
I’ve discovered that most people seem to be of the first variety. Either that, or they are so vocal in their disdain that people like me, who are of the second variety (even if only a little), remain quiet lest we be labeled a crazy moonbat or arrogant idiot.
For example, the article I Want To Ride In The Bus Chris Died In describes a journalist’s journey to the infamous Fairbanks 142 bus and the reaction she and two other Alaskans had to the bus, the book inside where “pilgrims” had written commentary, and the story of McCandless in general. The reaction from the Alaskans seems similar to the feedback Krakauer received, that of their own arrogance snidely commenting on how McCandless didn’t bring in enough supplies, he didn’t take a map, he was ill-prepared, every Alaskan knows this, every Alaskan would’ve survived but this stupid greenhorn didn’t, etc. etc. etc. The story turns into one of a person who didn’t respect Alaska, who didn’t somehow honor the state and its people by being a proper survivalist.
They miss the point.
The story has nothing to do with Alaska, how tough the citizens of the state are, and what they expect newbies to be.
And that is why the second group of people remain silent.
They haven’t forgotten how “forcefully they were once buffeted by the passions and longings of youth,” as Krakauer said. For some of us, the uneasiness that is just below the surface is evidence of that. These are the people who don’t last four years at a job, who seem shiftless, unfocused, unable to “buckle down” and be a standard, reliable person in society. They always have one eye on the cage door, always wanting to escape, though few do.
I understand why he didn’t take a map. I understand why he went in ill-prepared. He wasn’t looking to take just another camping trip, but trying to find out something about himself instead. By bringing all the necessary items along that probably would have saved his life, perhaps he would have defeated his whole purpose in going. It wasn’t the same as having a death wish but was about issuing the grand challenge, a final leap, to see what he was made of. He almost made it.
We go through life over-prepared for the temporal, under-prepared for the eternal. We insure everything and let time seep away.
But the two viewpoints are diametrically opposed, and so that leaves us with two Alaskans and a journalist mocking the sometimes smarmy but often heartfelt writings of people who found in McCandless a person who kicked open the cage door and took a run for it.
I didn’t agree with McCandless disappearing from his family and making no contact with them, writing them off and treating them with the immature disdain of someone in their early 20’s, but I so completely understood what he was doing that it scared me. Everything he did made sense to me, from the shunning of socks and society to the haphazard abandonment of material things.
We are prisoners of things.
Our minds and our lives—they are filled with shallow material things, whether it be the maintenance of them or how to acquire more. It has almost become our sole purpose in this culture. McCandless is seen as strange; he didn’t follow the rules of acquisition and security.
I wish I could write what I want to write here, but it is something I’m not ready to say just yet.
I have been getting rid of things. Clothes, books — things that seem to cling to me. There was nothing wrong with them. But I had too much and though for years I have struggled with all that I have, hoping a new arrangement or hiding it from sight will put my mind at ease, I have no peace as a prisoner of things. So I took a gentle swing at the cage door by getting rid of a huge pile of stuff.
Just tonight I took a huge pile of old art and lit it on fire. I watched the edges turn black and then watched the flames turn them to ashes in the burning barrel just outside the door. Another swing at the cage door.
Small things, yes, but a start. The more I burn and get rid of, the more I am free. I want to burn so many things and get rid of all the things that are holding the cage door shut.
Which brings me back to McCandless.
I wish I could leave it all and head off into the sunset, but I can’t. I’m not there yet, I don’t have it in me. I’m not strong enough, and I am too fearful. I still take comfort in my comfort, I’m ashamed to admit. And maybe I’m not supposed to. I would not feel right leaving my family.
But he did it, and when I read his story, I feel a little better about the small efforts I’ve made if only for the simple fact that I know someone out there tried, and I will try, too.
McCandless made the mistake we all make, confusing our heroes with our hypocrites, not realizing they are one and the same.
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