Sophie's World by Jostien Gaarder (15)

Philosophy can and should be a part of our everyday lives. It elevates us, helps us understand humanity and the world, and is a part of culture whether or not most people are aware of its influence. I can't say that I agree with most philosophers who (unsurprisingly) assert that the philosopher is the highest level a human can reach. But I do agree with Jostien Gaarder, and my old professors, about the importance of the subject.

Sophie's World is quite a novel. It's now been about 20 years since it's first publication in Norwegian, but a book containing an understandable and concise history of philosophy is never irrelevant. The reader learns to become a philosopher along with the main character, Sophie. And what makes a person a philosopher? Asking questions, keeping one's mind open to possibilities, and learning from history. It's simple, really.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery (11)

Elegance has all of my weaknesses. Paris, France. Philosophical meditations. Precocious twelve year old in pink glasses. Protagonists who are intellectual and misunderstood. Poking fun at self-centered snobs.

It is written as two separate journals, one kept by the solitary, pre-adolescent genius, Paloma, and the other by the concierge at her upscale apartment building, the solitary, middle-aged introvert Renee. The reader sees each writer's inner most musings. To give any details of the book itself would be to betray it's beauty, which is this novel's essence. Reflections on the beauty of life, language, thought, humanity. And even translated from its native French, it is gorgeous, rich prose.

For those used to a common narrative structure, it could seem slow moving. The reader learns Paloma's and Renee's history and plans, but there is little plot development until the last third of the book. It feels like living inside the characters' minds for a few average days. But the original sedentary pace makes the second half of the book that much more precious.

It is a book to read again, and to cry over again.

Cloves & Insecurity

Now I only use cloves to flavor my french pressed coffee. In college I used to smoke clove cigarettes, before moving on to Parliaments, before my tiny bank account prompted a choice between caffeine addiction and the classic cool prop. One drug over another, I suppose.

A friend introduced me to Djarum, as well as other substances and experiences that year, and I liked the cigarettes immediately. The spicy aroma, the tang on my lips, the pretense of busyness. Cloves released me from my common female insecurity. Walking alone on the city streets, I could hide behind the smoke. Waiting for my boyfriend to get out of class, I could fake confidence among the strange and better dressed girls at his school. If I wanted an excuse to leave my dorm, I could go smoke on the fire escape and brood. There was never an empty moment with a pack of Specials in my purse.

I'm glad I don't need that crutch anymore. I just found out about the ban on cloves and flavored smokes last year.

And this just as various states are reconsidering the legality of marijuana.

Lessons

One of my former bosses had a habit of pompously declaring mixed platitudes.

I only remember one. It is valuable advice, but reflecting on it is quite sad.

He told me several times, "Never move in." You should never make a home in your office. You never know when you will be gone. A family photo and a briefcase was all he needed, and could pick up and go immediately, instead of carrying a pathetic banker's box full of junk to his car.

As I prepare to move on in my career, I follow his advice. All I have is a bottle of hand lotion to slip into my purse, and I've disappeared from my desk, from this office and this life. I never made a home here and was carefully distant from coworkers as I planned my next steps.

Never moving in, never making a real connection, is practical advice. Especially for a job hopper. But even if the connections you make are short, abandoned when you leave for a new company, aren't they still worth while? Why should I stand alone, when I could at least have company for the few months I'm around?

I will only not move in with my personal items. In the future, I should try to befriend my coworkers.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho (2)

The Alchemist is swift and grand. It sweeps over a transcontinental journey, enormous life changes, and vast philosophies without wordiness. Brevity is power, and the book quickly snared my affection. A seminarian becomes a shepherd (symbolism!) out of wanderlust, dreams of a great treasure and forsakes the safety of familiarity on a mission to complete his life's narrative. It is an adventurous, romantic, philosophical coming-of-age tale in 167 pages. Every character was likable, even the thieves and bandits. How could I hate them, knowing they were each an important part of Santiago's quest?

The story is warm, the writing poetic and the message inspiring, despite the pantheism. I consumed this book and felt nourished and encouraged. It is an optimistic fantasy, but surprisingly pertinent. Discovering desires we have suppressed, resisting the easy routine, trusting instincts, accepting opportunities, conquering disappointments on the way to a higher goal - it is the most enjoyable self-improvement book I have read yet. Some might think it is too idealistic or too pagan. They wouldn't be wrong. But with captivating images, charming characters and a satisfying conclusion, there is only everything to love about this short book.

Books, Chords, Minimalism

The time for resolution is here!

Large goals:

I resolve to read (at least) 52 books this year. That is one book a week.
In addition, I resolve to write reviews of these 52 books.

Incremental goals:
I resolve to play my guitar every day, even if all I do is pick it up and strum it once.
I resolve to go to the gym at least once a week, even if all I do is use one machine.

Vague, philosophical goals:
I resolve to embrace minimalism in my life!

You're Not Too Old If You're Still Alive

I'm not sure what it is that prevents us from realizing we can mold our identities as we age. Perhaps it is a culture of youth worship, societal laziness or communal pessimism, but we get the message very early: You must decide who you will be for the rest of your life when you are a child.

I was ten or so when I became aware of this discouraging idea. I noticed that girls in my dance class who had been there since age 3 had a distinct advantage over me, even though I began at age 6. I didn't consider at that time that it was merely more time dancing and practicing had made them better dancers. They only had 3 years of a head start. Instead, subconsciously looking for an excuse to underachieve, I determined that only those who had been dancing since infancy had any chance of tap dancing enlightenment. I was too late. I would never be good. This message I absorbed is contradictory to the parental mantra "You can be anything you want" and Disney's inescapable "Believe in yourself and your dreams will come true." My mother was always telling me that I just needed to practice more, but honestly, who listens to their mother?



Of course, my mother was right. I was a child and quit dance class at 14 to pursue the more promising High School Track & Field career. No one ever questioned my worldview: succeed young or die a failure.

What I didn't know was that I could live my life differently. My quest for an identity, an occupation that thrilled me didn't end with my teens. In 2009, I realized that as long as I think, I am, and I can change directions, start a new hobby, seek a better career. So what if I didn't learn guitar in my teens? I'm starting now. My identity is not fixed, neither is my vocation.

I'll never be too old to learn something new as long as I'm alive.