I finished up "Into the Wild" this weekend and enjoyed it quite a bit. I realized a few chapters into the book that when this happened in the early '90s, I was about the same age as he was. So while I was winding down my failed college career and starting down the path I'm on now this guy was living out his fantasy life on the road and in the wilds of Alaska.
Not that I would or could have done anything remotely as courageous as he did when I was that age. I've come to realize that I'm about a decade (or two) behind everyone else in my age range as far as experiences and mental attitude go. It used to bother me, but now I'm trying to roll with it and take things as they come. I have a lot of admiration and respect for this guy; he took his destiny into his own hands, lived life deliberately, and savored every minute of it. Yeah he made mistakes and should have done some things differently, but that's not the point. I'd rather live a short life of happiness and discovery than a long life of boredom and monotony.
I'm a few chapters into "Merle's Door" and liking it so far. It's a different book than I'm used to reading, but that's a good thing.