Happy Birthday, Mr. Adams!

Today is Douglas Adams' birthday!

You may or may not remember, but The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is my favorite book.

When I am feeling sad, or unsettled, lost, or just not right, I can pick up this book and open it to literally any page and start reading. It doesn't matter where I end up, it's always a good part of the story.

I am very pleased to say that recently, The Husband started reading this book. Now, bear in mind, this book, which is very important to me, is almost 800 pages long. I know that The Husband must like me at least a little, because it is quite a commitment to read someone else's favorite 800-page book. Meanwhile, every few nights, I glance over at his kindle and read over his shoulder for a few minutes. I can't say if he will love this book as much as I do, but I can say that it makes me feel even more loved that he is reading this special story for me. The occasional snicker I hear while he is reading fills my heart with even more love for this book AND this man.

I've had some people posit to me that this book is not actually very well-written. I ignore those people. Yes, I do teach Composition and occasionally Literature at the community college, but that doesn't mean that I am restricted to only reading capital-L Literature. I don't care if this book is not Literature. This story fills my heart, and any opportunity I have to share it brings more love and laughter to my life.

Dearest Husband of mine, I only hope that as you continue working your way through this monster of a book, that you continue having fun with it. That's really the point, right?

So, that's it. I bow my heavily-scarred head to you, Mr. Adams, and thank you for all of the joy, past, present, and future, your story has brought to my life. Happy birthday!

Fave Quote of the Book: So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

 My favorite book (counting it as one because I have it as one complete and ultimate anthology) is The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I own at least 2 and possibly as many as 6 different copies/versions. There's the copy I read:

 But there is also the leather-bound copy with gilded edges. The paperback radio-script. The movie. The BBC miniseries (on Prime). All twelve episodes of the radio play. And most recently, this:

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish by Douglas Adams

Amazon Link

Now, why would I need a copy of just book 4 of the trilogy?

Before I answer that, let me tell you a story. Back before The Husband was The Husband, he worked at a bookstore. Dangerous place to get a paycheck if you are me, but luckily (I suppose) I did not work at that bookstore. But oh how I loved that bookstore. And I found out that people who work at these type of bookstores have access to things that I never dreamed of. Rare books. Databases. Dealers.

One day, the not-yet-husband gave me a gift. I don't remember if it was a Christmas gift, or a birthday gift, or a just-because gift, but this gift was a very effective love letter to me. He got me a very rare signed first edition of a book by one of my favorite authors (Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman). When he explained to me what he went through to get this book for me, that was one (of the many) moments that I knew this wonderful man loved me.


Over the years, I have acquired quite a few signed books, as gifts from friends, from The Husband, as lucky finds. It is important that you know that signed books are not for reading. They are for admiring.

What that means is that for every book of which I have a signed copy, I have a reading copy. We don't just go pawing signed books. We look with our eyes, but never touch with our hands.

Now, prepare yourselves. This is gonna get mushy.

I know that every signed book I've gotten from The Husband has been a love letter to me. He knows exactly the way to my heart. My love letter to him is in sharing my favorite books with him. He doesn't have to love them the way that I do, but getting a peek into these beloved books gives him a peek into my soul. Sometimes I feel like this is not enough, but those books make me who I am. Understanding my favorite books means he understands me.

My favorite quote from this specific book (but not from the complete series) is from Wonko the Sane:


Fave quote:
“[T]he reason I call myself by my childhood name is to remind myself that a scientist must also be absolutely like a child. If he sees a thing, he must say that he sees it, whether it was what he thought he was going to see or not. See first, think later, then test. But always see first. Otherwise you will only see what you were expecting” (Adams 587; emphasis added).

Now, I am no scientist (too much math involved) but I love this. Always see first.

When I saw this scribble on the front page of So Long and Thanks for All the Fish, I don't know what I was expecting, but what I saw was yet another love letter from The Husband. I've always wanted something signed by Douglas Adams, but because he died almost 20 years ago, finding and verifying items with his signature is decidedly more difficult than finding signed Neil Gaimans, of which I have three signed items.

Have I mentioned how much I love The Husband? Not just because he knows my love language is books, but because he knows which books, which means he knows me. He sees me.

Books: The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell with Bill Moyers (Part 4)

I am still working my way through The Power of Myth, and today, I want to think about the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
Before I get to that, remember that last time, I talked about learning from our imperfections, and I examined the cycle of death and life and death again. I looked at the beauty and ugliness in the world, and in myself.

I'm mentioned before that I've been a lifelong cynic, always the pessimist. I am sarcastic, I have a dark and morbid sense of humor, and I am composed of 65% snark, 25% spite, and 25% bad at math. I've been a lifelong cynic because life has been hard. I suffered a traumatic loss at fifteen years old. My first husband was no gem. My bad attitude cost me friends. I was an underachiever. I was born right at the edge of Gen X and right at the beginning of the Millennial generation; cynicism comes naturally to me.

Campbell discusses men risking their lives to rescue their compatriots during the Vietnam War. I would argue that it takes an extremely idealistic type of person to take such a risk for someone else. This kind of person must do what they do because there is some hope that they will succeed. Campbell says,

"Life is pain; life is suffering; and life is horror—but, by God, you are alive. Those young men in Vietnam were truly alive in braving death for their fellows" (Campbell and Moyers 141).

Life is funny that way. No matter how pessimistic we are, no matter how low our expectations are, life finds a way to kick you in the rear. All that pain, all that suffering, all that horror.


All of this adds up to so much terribleness (that doesn't seem like it should be a word), and yet here we are, plugging along, doing the best we can, even though we hurt, and we die. Even though we are frightened and alone. Even though we are betrayed and broken-hearted.

I know that I have the darkness: the pain, suffering, and horror are inside of me. I suspect they are inside of so many others.

But sharing that darkness inside of me with you allows me to have a spark of hope.

All it takes is one spark to light a fire.

Books: The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell with Bill Moyers (Part 1)

I'm currently simul-reading a couple of different books, but I want to talk about one that I am in the middle of right now.

Amazon has this to say:

The Power of Myth launched an extraordinary resurgence of interest in Joseph Campbell and his work. [ . . . ] With Bill Moyers, one of America’s most prominent journalists, as his thoughtful and engaging interviewer, The Power of Myth touches on subjects from modern marriage to virgin births, from Jesus to John Lennon, offering a brilliant combination of intelligence and wit.

This extraordinary book reveals how the themes and symbols of ancient narratives continue to bring meaning to birth, death, love, and war. 

This is a book that has sat on my bookshelves for years, and for some reason, when I finished When Things Fall Apart by the Venerable Pema Chodron, The Power of Myth reached out and grabbed me. I've been reading a fair number of philosophical or faith-based books, and at this point, I felt like it was time to change it up a little. This book touches on so many different topics, and I felt like I needed a book that took a different approach. This book is written in a bit of an unusual format compared to the other books I've discussed in the last six months.

In this one, Bill Moyers is interviewing Joseph Campbell. This long-form interview covers much of Campbell's works, but is particularly interesting because Moyers does not always agree with Campbell; in fact, they hash out some points of dissent over the course of the interview, further developing their own and each other's ideas.

As I have been on this journey of illness and self-discovery, weakness and epiphanies that have surprised me over and over again, I've realized many things about myself.

I am not always kind to myself. I have flaws that I'd prefer not to admit to, although I am sure that many of you have been witness to one or many of them. I have reserves of strength that reach deeper than I ever expected. I am even more stubborn than I ever thought I could be. People are complex. I am complex.

In an early part of the interview, Campbell says,

"the only way you can describe a human being truly is by describing his imperfections. The perfect human being is uninteresting—the Buddha who leaves the world, you know. It is the imperfections of life that are lovable. And when the writer sends a dart of the true word, it hurts. But it goes with love. This is what [Thomas] Mann called 'erotic irony,' the love for that which you are killing with your cruel, analytical word" (Campbell and Moyers 3).

The flaws in life are what make life interesting, right? It is too common for people to try to gloss over the faults in our friends, our family, ourselves. Think of the last funeral you went to: I have been blessed; for me, it was 23 years ago. People spoke so kindly of the dead. You know, and I know, that we should not speak ill of the dead, right? I felt so uncomfortable speaking so kindly of the dead and erasing the essence of who this person was. Of course, that is not to say that this person had no positive qualities, but ignoring those flaws swept away that which made this person so important, so loved, so missed. Ignoring those flaws distorted my memories, even as I knew that people were merely trying to be kind. 

But what did it mean that we, collectively, could not be honest with ourselves and each other about the true essence of this person? Why did we work so hard to pretend to ourselves and each other that there were only and exclusively good things to say about this person?


Moyers posits that

"what human beings have in common is revealed in myths. Myths are stories of our search through the ages for truth, for meaning, for significance. We all need to tell our story and to understand our story. We all need to understand death and to cope with death, and we all need help in our passages from birth to life and then to death. We need for life to signify, to touch the eternal, to understand the mysterious, to find out who we are" (Campbell and Moyers 4).

Anyone who knows me at all knows that my favorite book is The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I love it so much that I have a tattoo inspired from the book. In this book, among other things, they are trying to find the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything. The search for meaning appears to be a universal truth, contained within the pages of a British comedy trilogy and the pages within this more academic book about myth.

Something that I've always known about myself is that I love stories. I don't think that this makes me unique; stories tie us together, keep us together, bind us to each other. I love books, movies, tv shows, any medium that tells a story. This is part of what brought me to teaching at the community college. There is so much tucked away within the stories we read, the stories we tell each other, and it is far too easy to feel separated from each other when we are allowed to forget the universality of these stories.

I miss teaching. One of the best parts of teaching, for me, is getting to see the look of recognition on a student's face as they realize that this or that experience is not unique to their own life. I have interacted with so many students who feel alone in their experiences, singled out, on their own. Outcast, out of place, rejected. Having the opportunity to build connections and community with my students through shared stories has been the single most fulfilling part of my life. Finding shared meaning is so rewarding.

Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 6)

Let's keep thinking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear, being vulnerable, embracing hope, letting go of control, and beautiful fleeting moments.

It seems overly cynical to say that life is about suffering, and yet, haven't we all suffered in life? Granted, some suffer more than others, but I think that suffering is a universal aspect of the human condition. We don't deserve to suffer, and still, we suffer.

I think that just as suffering is a universal aspect of the human condition, so is hope. Some (many) of us may be lifelong cynics who expect nothing but the worst in any particular situation, but even the most hardcore cynic among us feels that little spark of hope. We can't help it. I'll be the first to admit that my cynicism is tainted by a deep underlying hope that I'm wrong for being cynical.


The Venerable Pema Chodron says that:

"The first noble truth of the Buddha is that when we feel suffering, it doesn't mean that something is wrong [. . .] Suffering is part of life, and we don't have to feel it's happening because we personally made the wrong move. In reality, however, when we feel suffering, we think that something is wrong. As long as we're addicted to hope, we feel that we can tone our experience down or liven it up or change it somehow, and we continue to suffer a lot" (Chodron 39; emphasis original).

When I think of suffering and hope, I think of my own tendencies to run away from suffering. It is so easy to believe that suffering reveals the true nature of life, the universe, and everything.

Suffering is a universal truth.

How depressing is that? I hate to think about life this way, even as I've suffered particularly difficult trials in the past six months. The Venerable Pema Chodron says,

"Hope and fear come from feeling that we lack something; they come from a sense of poverty [. . .] We hold on to hope, and hope robs us of the present moment. We feel that someone else knows what's going on, but that there's something missing in us, and therefore something is lacking in our world" (Chodron 40).

Chodron describes hope in such a negative way here, and I can't get behind that. To hold onto hope is to acknowledge that there is something missing, something wrong. Even if it is more in line with Buddhist teachings to abandon hope and accept that which is lacking in life, this feels counter-intuitive. Hope keeps us striving for a goal of some kind. I've mentioned before that I am not good at letting go of control. While I have felt a deep connection with the teachings in this book, here is where I struggle.

I struggle, and I hope.

I suffer, and I hope.

I hurt, and I hope.

Hope is painful, but the simple fact is that without hope, there is only suffering. I cannot suffer without feeling the respite of hope, no matter how far-fetched or unlikely that hope might be.

I cannot take that medication that makes me vomit without hoping that it is working valiantly and violently against my cancer.

I cannot suffer the pain in the hole in my skull without hoping that it means it is healing appropriately.

I cannot be poked and prodded, tested and scanned, examined and stared at, without hoping that someday, eventually, someone will find a cure for my incurable cancer before this takes me.

I breathe, and I hope.