I am a big fan of John Steinbeck, and I am getting ready to read his book “Travels with Charley” (in which he travels the country trying to rediscover the American Dream). In a departure this week from healthcare, I want to include excerpts from two letters I wrote home last summer shortly after driving from Oakland to Denver. It was, for me, a great experience in getting out of the bubbles that are Duke and the Bay Area.
June 6, 2014
“I’ve been thinking a lot these last few days about my drive out here. What an incredible diversity of scenery—starting in Montclair (where there seems to be more Teslas than anything else), I traveled through our state capital and into the Sierra Nevada mountains. At a gas station I used to restock on Mountain Dew, I met an Indian guy behind the counter; when he asked to see my ID to verify my credit card, he commented that he’d never seen my last name before.
I wonder what his story was.
In the turnout by the Truckee River, I talked for a while with a guy who manages fisheries for the State of California—how cool is that? He spends his days in the great outdoors and manages the resources of the sport he loves.
At the Cabela’s super store in Reno, the fly fishing salesman was a character. Not only did he remind me a lot of John Wurzel, he gave me directions based on “where the old whorehouse used to be.”
I wonder what his story was.
By this point in the drive, the landscape was beautiful. I had left the Sierra and was lost in a sea of sagebrush. The high desert of Nevada is unlike anything I had ever seen—rolling hills separated by vast valleys with names like “Lahontan” and small towns with names like “Battle Mountain.”
After crossing the border between eastern Nevada and western Utah (indistinguishable save for a welcome sign), I passed through a major valley that alternated between salt and dirt. Unbeknownst to me, I had passed the last gas station I would see for 40 miles, and I was on empty. I put the Jeep on cruise control at 65 miles per hour (even though the speed limit was 80) and camped in the right lane, hoping I’d make it. When I finally reached the station, the attendant greeted me with a smile and a nod of understanding—I certainly wasn’t the first person to walk through his door running on fumes. He showed me where the soft-ice cream machine was, and we chatted while I ate my cone.
There was another German couple in there who was biking across the country. They had started in San Francisco and were heading East. What disparate lives they must lead, the Germans and the attendant; one with the time and means to pick up and go on an adventure of that magnitude, and the other confined to a filling station in the middle of a seemingly inhospitable desert. They did share one thing in common, though: their friendliness….”
June 18, 2015
“…In my last letter, I mentioned the “quiet, can-do spirit of the West.” I’m a big fan of Sisyphus, who, if you remember, was cursed by Zeus to roll a rock up a hill, only to have it roll back down each time he approached the top. Perhaps this was the first instance of being stuck on a treadmill. Anyways, Sisyphus is stuck doing this arduous, meaningless task for the rest of eternity. Despite his undesirable fate, he makes the conscious decision to be the best damn rock pusher he can be. No only that, he delights in his work, albeit momentarily, each time he reaches the top.
It makes me think of all the people across the country—some of whom I saw on my drive—who have been consigned to all different sorts of hardship: poverty, disability, mental deficiency, etc. And yet, they wake up each morning and commit themselves to being the best (fill in the blank) they can be. It’s an admirable trait, and one that I think is rare in my generation. Too often, people my in my age and socioeconomic cohort feel that certain work or hardship or circumstances are below them, not worth their time or not worth their dedication. The ability to pour yourself into your work, regardless of whether it will help lift you out of whatever affliction you might suffer from, is pretty extraordinary.
There is a line in “Good Will Hunting” where Will and Ben Affleck’s characters are standing on the construction site. Affleck says, “I’m going to wake up tomorrow and I’ll be fifty. And I’m still going to be doing this. And that’s okay.” That line strikes me more than any other in the movie (except maybe, “Do you like apples? Because I got her number—how do you like them apples?!”) because it shows complete comfort, acceptance and fulfillment in a job that carries little cache or prestige….”
I’m not sure there is a greater point to any of this, except to say that the life we lead–seemingly ordinary to us–is I think in fact quite exceptional. Neither better nor worse…just worth realizing.
Max Stayman is a Trinity senior. His column runs on alternate Fridays.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.