This week I read Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. As much as I don’t understand why anyone without a gun to their head would choose to run a marathon, I admire stamina.
The book is more of a meditation on life than a memoir of exercise. Life is about finding something to run toward, making a goal, beating your own time…
It almost made me want to jog in Central Park.
Okay, I almost thought about putting on some running shoes.
Here’s an excerpt I like:
I look up at the sky, wondering if I’ll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don’t. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn’t be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature. My own individual, stubborn, uncooperative, often self-centered nature that still doubts itself - that, when troubles occur, tries to find something funny, or something nearly funny, about the situation. I’ve carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I’m not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I’ve carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry. Still, I guess I have grown attached to it. As you might expect.
I am sure any insight he found running you can find on the swings.
Sometimes people seem to overthink happiness. Or even a better word joyfulness, if that’s a word. If it wasn’t it is now. If you do good things, good things will happen. That’s how you gain happiness or joyfulness.
Think I could borrow this book? I’m almost done with The Savage Detectives and will need something to read… I could use an inspirational memoir.
I just read a book. And googled for this expert, because is so true to me. Think I have special connection with Murakami. I am runner too :))