i just picked up wild by cheryl strayed last weekend and it was such a fun read. i was getting a bit tired of my daily news dosage which has exploded thanks to my ipad (hello pulse, you crack dealing app of web news). which is a funny thing to think about, this self induced “noise” of news. there’s so much, there’s too much and the only way to drown it out is to read something full, lengthy, and wholly absorbing.
i stumbled upon cheryl after discovering a little piece on the revealing of the advice columnist sugar’s identity. i’m itching for a trek and the cabin fever is getting stronger and stronger. wild was a nice way of living vicariously via my morning and evening commute. of course there are many layers to the meaning of wild as many as there are to strayed. but i won’t go into those here.
as a quick plug, as it seems i’m given to writing book reviews more and more frequently…and strayed was such a pleasant way to start my mornings. very enjoyable and honest memoir. by honest, i’m not sure i’m choosing the right word. raw is a bit too strong, but she feels real. a type of real that exists between rawness and honesty and personal pain all mixed up in a memory. i wish i were more eloquent, but there is something genuine that i recognize in her grief. i think anyone who’s ever lost anyone close will know her and know what it feels to stray.
it’s time, imagine dragon