Traveling by Book, Traveling in my Dreams

Okay.  Since no one else will write anything, I'll just have to do so.  Yes, this is a not-so-subtle reprimand for my fellow and beloved book-clubbers.

I have been reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, trying to get a jumpstart for our next book club meeting.  Dont, worry, no spoilers follow!  While there are many passages that have been so beautifully crafted that I was inclined to underline them using my favorite pen (purple ink, of course), one line continues to haunt me.  It both excites me and saddens me, gives me hope and dashes my dreams.  The line occurs early in the novel, within the first twenty pages: "My grandfather always says that's what books are for," Ashoke said, using the opportunity to open the volume in his hands.  "To travel without moving an inch."  Ashoke speaks this poignant line in response to a man's command to travel the world while he can, while he is free from responsibility and obligations.

I'm sure the reason the passage excited me is obvious.  As a lover of books, and as one who has always found escape in books, the idea of traveling by book resonates with me.  My first glimpse of the English countryside was through Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I remember trembling with Jane Eyre in the red room and walking the seedy streets of Brooklyn with Francie.  I sailed down the Mississippi with Huck and Jim, felt the blistry winter air in the March attic, keeping Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy company in New England.  I have been to Neverland and watched the flowers bloom with Mary in her Secret Garden.  I watched as Oliver begged for a little more gruel in Dickens'  seedy and unseen London and continued to helplessly peek in the window as Nancy was brutally murdered.  I have seen and visited wonderful places, places people only dream of, and I have seen and visited places that persist in childish nightmares.  All through the books I read.

But, alas, I have never truly seen these places, never walked where the characters in my favorite novels have walked, never breathed the air my favorite authors have breathed.  Only in my imagination have I followed shadows and caught glimpses of things I long to experience.  I remember as a child seeing rainbows and clouds in the sky, and I wanted to touch them.  But of course you can't touch these things. I always ran toward the rainbow and never arrived at its location. So it is with Austen's countryside.  I see it vividly in my mind, but it is not tangible. I keep chasing after it, but I never seem to get there.

Maybe it is because it is summer, the time for vacations and travel, that my heart aches for exotic places even more than usual.  Growing up, we never took family vacations.  There was never money, never time.  I take that back.  When I was four years old, we went to Disney World with my creepy, evil stepfather.  I only remember two things about the trip: 1) I wasn't allowed to ride the Dumbo ride because said stepfather thought the line was too long 2) the witch on the Snow White ride scared me.  To be fair, I have traveled to Boston to visit family in the last couple of years, and I will never, ever forget our memorable trip to NYC.  I still look at the pictures from that trip and smile! But there are so many other places I want to go in America and abroad, places I fear I will never visit.  I certainly don't have the money to do so now, and since I'm about to embark on another six years of self-induced poverty (aka Ph.d) I don't foresee any trips to good ole England, for example, anytime soon.  Nor even Disney World.  This saddens me more than I could ever truly express.

Because I did things so backwards in my life, I don't have the freedom of which the stranger in The Namesake speaks.  I already have responsibilities and obligations.  And as much as I hope to one day have children and take them on trips to the places I dream of, I want to visit them first.  Does this sound selfish? Perhaps it is.

Now that, I have explained the excitement and melancholy that flooded me when reading this line, I promise slightly more cheery material to follow.  At first, reading such a line was crushing.  I wanted to stamp my feet and cry out, "But I don't wanna travel without moving an inch!"  I want to get on a plane, a train, a boat even and go there now.  Like Veruca Salt, "I want it NOW!"  Then, I gave myself a good talking-to.  I could continue to be a big baby and pout, giving up on the hope of ever seeing these places, or I could continue to dream, to remember the solace I have previously found in books, in traveling only in my dreams.  Instead of seeing my beloved books, my old friends as reminders of the places I may never go, I needed to see them as a lovely way to visit Tuscany, England, France, and Ireland in an afternoon, for no more trouble than a trip to the bookstore or library or a click on Amazon.  But, how do I do this?

For the longest time (since I began Grad School to be exact) my relationship with books has been dwindling.  I still love to read, but I think I have forgotten the pleasure of simply getting lost in a book for no other reason than to be lost.  Because I have a typical Type A personality, I always put too much pressure on myself.  As much as I don't like to admit it, I like to be the best at things.  I rarely am, but I never cease to work toward such outrageous standards.  Thus, when I read, I feel like I should be writing something about it, formulating a plan, preparing for class (to teach or study).  Even reading books for book club has at times been a chore.  This is not to say that I haven't read for pleasure, but even then, I almost feel like I should turn it into something productive.  More productive than simply reading, I guess.  To be honest, I don't know what I mean or how to explain it. I guess, I've let other things come between me and books, even writing, for I love to write about the things I am reading (as you can tell from this unusually long post).

So, I have decided to reconcile with books this summer.  Yes, I need to study for the subject test.  And yes, I should read some things to prepare for further studies.  But, I am going to read so that I can enjoy myself, so that I can travel without moving an inch.  I'm going to begin by reading Under the Tuscan Sun so that I can visit Italy.  What will follow, I'm not quite sure.  I need to make an itinerary of the places I want to visit. Then, if anyone asks in the fall, "What did you do this Summer?" she will not hear my usual, bitter reply: "Nothing." Instead,  I will optimistically and pleasantly respond, "I began the summer in a villa in Tuscany."  Would you like to join me on my excursions?