The Waste Land

The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot is one of my favorite pieces of literature.  I always have trouble knowing what to call it: it's a book because published as a standalone, a poem of course, but it seems so much more than any one thing.  It is a volume of history, a sociological treatise, a psychological case study, an apologia, autobiography, mythology....a library of its own, in short.  The mystery of it amazes.

Earlier this year I underwent a series of tests for some rather annoying medical problems.  Through the process I was aware that my symptoms were consistent with a rather troubling possible diagnosis, but I did an excellent job (if I do say so myself) of compartmentalizing this and ignoring the possibilities.  However, on the morning of one of the more worrisome tests, I finally said to myself as I got dressed in the dark, "I might find out today that I am dying."  (I realize that we are all dying, but you know what I mean.)

I am a person who likes to think in logistics.  If there is a problem, I don't want to sit around and have feelings about it, I just want a plan for dealing with it.  So when considering my own potential demise, I mentally checked off children (life insurance--check), spouse (young--will move on; also life insurance--check); dog (will whine but will eventually find someone in the house to feed him--check).  Felt rather good about that checklist.  All in order.  But...

"I'll have to change my calendar for 3rd quarter.  I'd want to teach The Waste Land one more time before I die."  That was it, my great existential crisis.  One more time to teach The Waste Land.  One more time to read The Waste Land.   An upsetting thought. 

But I guess that's true of all of the books we live with and love.  Just like people, you never know when you won't get to read them again.  Imagine, the last time to read Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice or 100 Years of Solitude.  Or whatever your personal favorite is.  (I once knew a man who read The Old Man and the Sea every single year.  There's no accounting for tastes.)  It made me realize what a privilege each reading is and how, just like people, we sometimes take our favorite book for granted.  Forget to give it the attention it's due.  So if you have an old favorite you haven't visited with in a while, give yourself the pleasure of rereading it soon.  Savor it.  Remind yourself why it was (and is) so special to you.  I will be reading The Waste Land with a new eye this year.  I can hardly wait.