About a month ago I started reading Moby Dick on a whim. I turned 25 this year, so maybe this is the beginning of my quarter life crisis. I’m not sure exactly what it says about me that my idea of coping with boredom is to pick up the largest possible book around, that is notoriously difficult and windy, and decide to read it. Thus far Mr. Melville and I have spent at least 30 hours together and I’m not even half way done with the book, and to be honest I’m not even sure how I feel about the book.
Reading Moby Dick is like my life. There are moments when it is humorous, a scattered few that are deep, and then there are others where I have no idea what is really happening and I’m forced to wonder how on earth this could be important to the overarching narrative. And of course, the story just keeps going and going and going, seemingly without end.
Too often in my life I try to rush through the simple in search of the momentous. I find myself skimming. I’m in a hurry to get done, but I don’t even know what that means. There’s this long checklist in my mind, and if I can just cross everything off, then life will be perfect; but it’s not that simple. The farther down the list I go the more items I find to do. Life cannot just be a long list of doing. I need to stop skimming. I need to relax and enjoy the moment rather than being frustrated by the absence of something more glorious. Life is like Moby Dick. It doesn’t always make sense and at times it makes you want to pull your hair out, but there are enough beautiful moments along the way to keep you plugging along.