A Reflection of Into The Wild
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
Sometime in the late ’90s, I was casually browsing for books at the Strand bookstore on the corner of 12th Street and Broadway in New York City. As I nonchalantly picked through the vast selection, I came across a gray-white cover novel with a picture of an old bus parked in the snow. I read the summary and it gave me pause.
The book was about a wealthy young man who grew up in a tumultuous household. After graduating college, he turned his back on his parents and society. He donated his life savings of twenty-five thousand dollars to charity, burnt whatever money he had left on him, and tramped around the country for two years until he ended up on his greatest adventure, Alaska.
That young man’s name is Christopher Johnson McCandless and the book is Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer. In the spring of 1992, while snow still blanketed the barren landscape, Christopher, ill-equipped, but full of raw conviction, entered the Alaskan wilderness. He never came out alive.
Some miscalculations on Christopher’s part, along with pure bad luck, lead to the tragic misfortune of Christopher dying of starvation. He passed away in the abandoned bus, or as he referred to it as, “the magic bus,” which he used as a primary camp.
After a brief, yet deep contemplation of the book, I flippantly tossed it back in the stack and walked away.
Turning Toward the Pain
As I strolled away from Christopher’s story, I thought to myself, “Why do I want to waste my time reading about some kid who had problems and gave up on life by walking into the Alaskan wilderness naively unprepared?”
At that time, I was in my early twenties, close to the age Christopher was when he passed away, and I wanted to set the world on fire. Much like Christopher, I was also looking for a way to vent my anger and frustration at my own dysfunctional upbringing. But unlike Christopher, I immersed myself into society by moving to New York City at the age of eighteen to pursue a career in theatre.
When I moved to NYC, I didn’t have a place to stay. I was homeless for the first year off and on. I stayed wherever I could—all night laundry mats, parks, churches. Christopher and I both shared an unyieldingly strong will to live on our own terms, no matter the price. I was voraciously ambitious, and by the time I was twenty-three, I had become the youngest Artistic-Director of an Off-Broadway theatre in NYC.
Although I found something hauntingly intriguing about Christopher’s story, I simply didn’t feel like reading about someone who in my mind was giving up on life. I had taken a different approach in resolving my internal conflict than Christopher. Christopher rejected everything about a conventional lifestyle. A career, family, social norms, Christopher was unwilling to conform to societal expectations that most people had been indoctrinated into.
I lived in the fast pace of NYC, the beacon for Western capitalistic society. I saw a therapist, took yoga classes, and did everything I could to take care of myself. I felt like I was facing my demons head-on. I wasn’t running away from the pain I was feeling, but I was willing to turn toward the darkness, and I felt Christopher was running from whatever hurt him, and for whatever reason at that time, I did not want to connect with his story.
It wasn’t until many years later after I had gained more life experience and gone through my own trials and tribulations that I realized I had judged Christopher without knowing anything about him. The thing that always brought me back to Christopher’s story was my own connection and love for nature.
The Great Outdoors
In 2002, I decided to drive across the country and camp the entire way. I threw a tent and some camping gear into the trunk of my car and took off. I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn’t care. There was something fervently exhilarating about the freedom of being on the open road.
Spending time in nature is a holistic way of re-setting one’s system. There is an existential sensation of being connected to universal energy, a oneness with every living organism fighting for survival in this molecular stew of galaxies. The humble tranquility of the stillness and silence in the capacious wonderment of nature can become hopelessly addicting.
I didn’t drive on the main highways, I took the beaten-paths. The roads lead me to where the sky seems so big that it could swallow the earth, and not another living human was in sight for hundreds of miles. I found myself lost in the liberating feeling of being detached from the superficial demands of society.
I craved more outdoor adventures. I moved from NYC to California. I camped as much as possible. I tackled some of the country’s toughest hikes, like Angels Landing in Zion National Park, summitting Half Dome in Yosemite, Devil’s Path in the Catskills, and The South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. I traveled to Peru and spent a week hiking through the Amazon jungle, sleeping in a mosquito net, eating piranha and snakes. I have been to places so far off the grid that my existence seemed insignificant. Yet, these adventures were nothing compared to what Christopher did, and it was in these moments of laying in the immense nothingness of space that I felt Christopher’s story resonate with me.
Into The Wild
It wasn’t until nearly twenty years after I first picked up the book Into The Wild at the Strand Bookstore that I purchased a copy at Small World Books in Venice Beach. After reading the novel, I was moved and even inspired by Christopher’s story.
That fearless desire which drove Christopher to live life his way made me feel a unique bond with him. I am not the only one who has been touched by Christopher’s Story. Since the movie Into The Wild came out in 2007, Christopher’s story has penetrated the pulse of millions of restless souls all over the world.
Thousands of followers of Christopher’s story have made pilgrimages from all over the world to the magic bus where Christopher lived out his final days. They have walked the same path that Christopher took to reach the magic bus. Over the years so many have traveled the trail, the Alaska Army National Guard decided to transport the bus by helicopter to a “secure site” after two hikers died and at least 15 have had to be rescued while trying to reach the bus.
I now realize that Christopher wasn’t running from his problems. He was simply trying to live life the best way he knew how. Whatever animosity and disdain he felt for his parents, especially his father, he was coping his way. This was his journey, maybe Christopher was searching for something that he couldn’t find in a confined, traditional lifestyle. Perhaps Christopher could only find peace when he was lost in the divine embrace of nature.
Christopher had a wonderful heart. He thrived off the feeling of being free, to roam as he pleased. In the wild, Christopher was in his element. It is there in the rapid rivers and lonely desert plains that Christopher found his bliss. He was living his dream, following his own path. Even in his final days on earth, when he knew he was dying and would probably not make it out of the Alaskan wilderness alive, he took a picture of himself with his camera. In the picture, Christopher is seen holding up one hand waving, and in the other hand is a written note saying “I have had a happy life and thank the Lord, goodbye and God bless all.” In the photo, Christopher can be seen smiling.
In the end, Christopher may have been at peace with the way he lived life, and isn’t that something we can all strive for? Nature was Christopher’s temple, it was his home, he felt safe there. It enveloped him with beauty, love, and perhaps most important to Christopher, the truth.