Zen and the Art of Slogging through a Tedious Classic

You may have noticed I've been tinkering with the sidebar. For those who don't like math, I've added a clock that says, "while the day's first cup of Joe gently coaxes your eyes open, we're reheating last night's leftovers and hearing you wake up via Facebook statuses."

For fellow aficionados of music and foreign lyrics, I've dabbled in HTML long enough to figure out how to embed and resize YouTube videos of Italian hits. (Unfortunately, I don't know much beyond that, but I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to Google step-by-step instructions in plain English.)

Finally, for my bibliophile friends, I've posted a picture of a book under the heading Currently Reading. Actually, that's a half-truth: I really put that picture up as a barometer of my reading speed. It was supposed to be my virtual kick-in-the-cerebral-pants.

On April 30, 2010, I found Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values in the itty-bitty (read: short on selection) library on base. The wannabe intellectual in me recognized this as a work acclaimed for its life-changing philosophical musings. Eager to impress everyone around with my highly sophisticated choice of literature, I checked it out and immediately dove in.

Progressing through the book was not unlike Benjamin Braddock's car ride in the final scenes of The Graduate:

The Graduate Slows Down @ Yahoo! Video

At first, I thought it charming and inspirational that the schizophrenic protagonist could clear his head by embarking on a Midwestern motorcycle trek. When he started discussing Classical versus Romantic thought, I found myself intrigued by his view of duality. But when he attempted to define Quality in two phases--nonmetaphysical and metaphysical--I began to wonder if this book was threatening my own sanity.

I almost made it through half the book--and, since my library does not fine for lateness, what should have been a big fee--before admitting to myself that I was not up to the task. No, I would no longer drag myself through Robert Pirsig's convoluted thoughts! Free at last, I happily traded Zen for my book club's latest assignment--Pride and Prejudice--and devoured 138 pages in one afternoon.

In taking up Pride, I have also lost some (more). I am reminded of the four-eyed high school student who practically campaigned for title of "Most Intellectual" in the senior yearbook. And the college student who discovered the key to nerdy boys' hearts was her small green Oxford Classical Texts. (Upon seeing them in my arms, one pale guy in thick horn-rimmed glasses exclaimed, "Whoa, you read Latin? Totally rad!") And finally, I am reminded of the teacher who sometimes struggled with the phrase I don't know.

At some point, we are all guilty of hiding behind something. How much does what I read say about who I am? who I want to be?

In the end, as much as I am "done" with Zen for the moment, I hope I will have the courage to pick it up sometime down the road. The reviews on Goodreads certainly reflect the turmoil I feel about it, while upholding it as an insightful read. I admit that I am not quite ready (mature enough? dare I say...intellectual enough?) to tackle such a book. It's OK that I prefer a girly read about 19th century love matches and miscommunication. (Hey, it's a classic, too!) That's who I am right now, and I can't say I didn't try to expand my horizons.

There's still hope for this wannabe intellectual. After all, there are few lovers of grammar and etymology more passionate than I. Maybe one day I will add Mr. Pirsig's brand of philosophy to my list of interests. In the meantime, I am comforted in knowing that 121 publishers rejected his book before it hit the printers.