Pure Writerly Moments 2 (Short Stories, Essays, Book Reviews, and More)

Into the Wild - Reflections

What does "Into the Wild" mean?

People often tell me that I remind them of Chris McCandless (aka Alexander Supertramp).

I have read the book and seen the movie. (It's odd that Emile Hirsch did not become a bigger movie star!). Both have their charm, though there are alternative literary and film watching experiences to "into the wild" – the classical American book "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau is my favorite, but so is the classic kid's book "Where the Wild Things Are."

So, why do I remind people of Chris McCandless? I guess because I'm a loner. Because I have the rugged good looks of a young hipster...scratch that one. Actually, I don't have Chris's skills as an outdoor survivalist (I love walking and nature, but can't camp, hunt, or cook). However, when all else fails, I embrace loneliness. Solitude is like a warm blanket on a cold, rainy day.

There are different ways to be "in the wild"...

To go into the wild, to live like Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer. There are moments in the movie where he is eating apples in the woods or kayaking down the river -- that's Huck Finn! That is Henry David Thoreau in "Walden." Go into nature. Find yourself. Scale down the world until it is simple enough to understand again...

How many times have I longed for that kind of escape when I was trapped in the nightmare of childhood?

A strange aside, but if you have ever had a fantasy about running away from home, I highly recommend Haruki Murakami's "Kafka by the Shore" (海辺のカフカ). It's a very wonderful book for many other reasons, but the protagonist reminds of that classic archetype of the youth who just needs to get away.

But there is also a kind of darkness to the story of Chris. When he almost gets caught by the river patrol, when he kills the moose and loses the meat, when he loses his kayak. That is the Hollywood version of what happened, anyway. Perhaps in real life it wasn't so dramatic. But, then again, we don't know. Perhaps the reality was even more dramatic.

Chris is only 23, but he keeps meeting wonderful people. It's hard to watch someone starve and go insane. It's all well and good until we starve and go insane.

I keep preparing myself for tragedy. I prepare myself for the end...

But the reality is that frustrations are more common than tragedy. The everyday frustrations are what drive me to go "into the wild."

I see this as an adult version of "Where the Wild Things Are."

Just a kid who is misunderstood...he puts on a wolf costume, gets on a boat, and goes sailing to a mysterious island. This kid hopes he can be free. There is a kind of freedom in risk and in danger. Your skin feels more a part of you. You can feel free with the other animals. Perhaps maybe you can also be understood.

It seems like I've been doing my own version of "tramping." It's not just that I change jobs every two years and move cities just about as often. It has to do with all the walking I do. I mean massive amounts of walking.

When I lived in Sendai from 2016-2018, I would start off at the Sendai Literary Museum. I would walk the long bridge to get to the museum. I would get coffee from a vending machine and sit by the window and look out at the Japanese garden. I would be lost in my thoughts, and soon, lost in a book. The back of the museum would lead into Dainohara Park. I would go into this park, my little sanctuary, and do one, two, three...four laps around the park. I would think or I would not think. I would try to soak in all the nature. Mostly, I would do these walks by myself.

No wolf costume...no abandoned identity...but it was as if I had lost faith in the ability to move the world. I was only striving to regain my sense of balance. I was also protecting something vulnerable about myself...the way only loneliness could.

The end of the journey is always the hardest part. The end of McCandless's story (the movie version) in some ways reminds me of Jack London's "To Build a Fire." I think the real Chris McCandless made it to 24 years of age. He got probably less than 2 years of freedom. Real freedom takes courage, real freedom comes with costs.

So, I do my "into the wild" in half-measures. I start off early on Sundays, I go as deep into the forests as two or three hours of hiking will allow, and I listen carefully to the silence that tells me I am free...momentarily.

In "Where the Wild Things Are," the boy eventually returns home...

It's okay to go home sometimes too.