I've been bookish since age 10 or so.
Many authors excited me that no longer do. Something to do with growing up, which process I delayed as long as possible.
Authors that changed me include Ayn Rand, Robert Heinlein, especially Stranger in a Strange land.
A book that helped me break out was one by Harry Browne: How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World. I developed the courage to give up a psychotherapy practice a few years after reading his book. I'd struggled years to go from high-school drop-out (I'm offically still that, though
), going to school nights, working days -- took me years.
At first I loved my work. But after a few years it became boring. Just why is another story --some of it hilarious. And I didn't much like my colleagues, nor the milieu. But who would give up a profession with its prestige and other perks, after struggling so long and hard to get there? Unheard of. Some people die in that trap.
I might have broken out, anyway, who can know?
But Harry can sure teach you about breaking out of "boxes".
What actually happened is that I moved gradually from far left to pretty much far right. Along the way I shed my old infatuations and even my professional interests.
Funny part is that I have NO friends from my days as a professional.
But once I turned to business pursuits (always small-time stuff, I hate fitting in to an organization) the friends I made as soon as I changed my line of work are, some of them, still with me, 20 and 25 years later.
So as a "hustler" and now a landlord, I have close, long-time friends. Before, not really. Also was an unhappy person, even depressed before "breaking out". Never since. (And I've taken some hard knocks {who hasn't?}, since).
My conclusion: the left-wing philosophy and its associated values cannot sustain happiness, thankfulness, joy. The "Far RIGHT WING CONSPIRACY" can. A left-winger looks out over a beautiful vista and must immediately obsess over global warming and habitat encroachment. I take it in, thank G-d that it's there and that I'm here to see it.
He smokes grass; I get high on life.
One example: I love the poetry of Dylan Thomas, especially his DON'T GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT. I still love it.
But then it spoke FOR me. I truly raged against many things and had I found myself dying then would certainly have raged at the dying of the (my) light (lotta good it woulda done me, right?). Now, although I love his poetry, I could keel over even as I type this and I would die happy. He on the other hand drank himself to death young.
Many of the writers I revered then drank themselves to death or suicided or died in car accidents. One way or another, they checked out early. Glad I cut loose from them. Even Ayn Rand, whom I still value, might have done better (for herself) to have immersed herself in Torah study instead (her "real" name was Alissa Rosenbaum). Must have been at least something amiss in her philosophy: she died alone and unhappy.
I'm reading 4 -5 books at once right now. But although I enjoy them they certainly don't count as life-changing.
Authors "left over" from my prior life include Kafka, Camus, Jean Genet, Bertrand Russel.
One I wouldn't recommend to you, but he still moves me. With his way of seeing and expressing that. Not his politics -- he was a Communist. Bertold Brecht.
Of course he was a Communist who loved $500 suits and $5 cigars (you do the adjustment for inflation). His play, CAUCASIAN CHALK CIRCLE haunted me. Still can. Or his THREE PENNY OPERA. I loved his irony.
One author who wrote, seemingly, about MY personal life (then) was Franz Kafka. His books, THE CASTLE and THE TRIAL, but especially his short story A REPORT TO AN ACADEMY got to my core. I loved most of his stuff.
Camus, THE PLAGUE stayed with me a long time. I might still like it. But his NEVER A VICTIM OR AN EXECUTIONER BE, although I loved it then, leaves me cold now.
I loved OUR LADY OF THE FLOWERS by Jean Genet. Then. Probably would no longer identify with his underdogs the same way, now. His power, though, was incredible.
The authors that excite me now probably wouldn't interest most of you: Rabbi Meir Kahane is one of the most important. He changed me -- tore me open.
Leon Uris' EXODUS had a lasting effect.
Want to know real joy? My 17 year old daughter, who is a chip off the old block -- stubborn, tough, but smarter -- on the outside she's polite and charming (but me she gives a terrible hard time) -- much better looking, too! -- she reads some of the books I recommend. AND SHE LIKES THEM! Asks if she can keep them! Now do you see why I can die happy, whenever my lights go out? She relates to the literature AND to the Judaism.
And I mean JOY! When that happens with her rockets burst, volcanoes thunder, the earth shakes -- I don't dare tell you what befalls the moon and stars!
So I run to my GF and the poor woman has to absord all this energy.
On the other hand, I get high just looking at her, too. She thinks she getting older at 53. I see beauty. femininity, softness ('till she punches me!), pulchritude, darling ways, she's funny, too. We get off laughing at stuff. We go nuts laughing together. That is, of course, when we're not busy yelling at each other. On the third hand I get high looking at my Alaskan Malamute. Love my road bike and my truck, too. I mean just staring at 'em.
I think it's working out fantastic! Unhappy the first part of my life. But just look at the mess I've become now. Much better than the other way 'round.
I love books. Brought myself up on them. The authors were surrogate parents. In the case of books, you CAN choose your parents. But better be careful which ones you choose. They'll change you alright.
matis
