| Haruki Murakami is a man who likes to be alone, who can find a zone of centered concentration and just go with it, whether he is writing or running. But it is not only his ability to focus and to be alone that make him a great writer and a dedicated runner, but also his ability to observe closely (and ask questions) and to draw conclusions from what he observes. In a way it is strange that a person who likes to be alone can also be a person with the extrovert’s ability to converse with people, and seek help and advice, but he did run a jazz bar for ten years, a job that requires a fair amount of schmoozing and observing and connecting, and those years served him well. He only began running after deciding to go it as a novelist full time, and he needed the exercise. He admits freely that he is one who puts on weight easily and he needed the exercise to keep the belly rolls away. Instead of lamenting the fact, he sees boon in the burden: being forced to exercise has led him to be a healthier person, and he found a sport he loves: running. So he began running as a lark but one he dedicated himself to; writing starting the same way, a lark of “I can do this” matched with the dedication to set himself down every single late-night (or early morning) when he got home from the bar, to write out by hand his first novel (which he then sent off for a prize, forgot about, and then won the prize awarded for best new writer in Japan).
Through his wonderfully engaging memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, we learn much about Murakami and his philosophies on life and work and running. He does not pronounce his philosophies so much as actually live them, and by sharing with us how he lives (and keeping huge sections private: there are references now and again to his wife or to “we” but he never offers her name or occupation, and we never meet another member of his close or extended family) By sharing the running and the writing, Murakami is sharing those aspects that are both private and public, and we are left to infer the rest. He finds something positive in the difficult or negative or challenging aspects of himself, he has the discipline to do what he sets himself out to do, and he loves running. He loves running. Even when he goes through long periods of not liking it very much, he always loves it. And so it is with writing, and I am willing to bet he is as dedicated a friend and a husband, willing to ride the bumps and struggle up the hills, and make it through the grueling parts — and then rest with a cold beer in hand to enjoy the accomplishment. If you are a runner, this book should be inspiring. If you’re not a runner, whether because you’re plagued by physical ailments or time management problems (translation: children or work demands), or just not into running, this book will still be inspiring for how Murakami meets challenges. He meets them with determination, patience, and calm. Not always: this man is most wonderfully not a saint but a human, with flaws and warts. He himself admits he can be self-centered and dismissive of social engagements. Perhaps the most inspiring aspect of Murakami for me was how he determines the challenges worth taking on in his life: he does not waste time scaling mountains just because they are there, or because someone has said, “This would be a good mountain to scale” but because it is something that he is interested in. He also knows that priorities have to be set and certain life choices set aside when defining your interests and commitments: “You really need to prioritize in life, figuring out in what order you should divide up your time and energy. If you don’t get that sort of system set by a certain age, you’ll lack focus and your life will be out of balance.“ He decides that for him writing is the focus of life, and he dedicates himself to writing, understanding that there are other aspects of life (for example, an active social life), that he must give up. He writes novels because he loves to write and he loves the lifestyle of freedom and solitary dedication, and so what he gives up is not so onerous but nevertheless, he knows he cannot “do it all.” How refreshing that outlook! (How I wish I could adopt it.) And how refreshing when he suffers through periods when his avocation is tiring or riddled with the responsibility of tours or lectures but he goes with the flow because he knows it is worth it to him: he does not complain (whine) nor does he try to change things to suit himself (he is a successful writer after all, he could throw a hissy fit and maybe get away with it — but he doesn’t). He goes with the flow, and he is dedicated to doing his best. When he falls short of the best, he is disappointed. But he just rededicates himself to get it right next time. This book is also quite a good reflection of growing older, on accepting new limitations on physical ability and accepting with gratitude the aging process. After all, he knows it is far better to grow old and lose some of the thrust and ability of youth, than to be shorn of life at an early age, and never know the aging of the body and mind. Murakami writes of how a runner, like a writer “has a quiet, inner motivation, and doesn’t seek validation in the outwardly visible.“ He must know that there are many, many people who only seek –and I’m not just talking abut runners or writers — the validation of others, and are only inspired by glory, money, and fame. He has a certain nobility of outlook — a view of life’s purpose that is very internal and deep, and unswayable — that cannot encompass the grubbier aspects of running, writing, and all other human endeavors. At times his memoir is almost naive in its assessments but if we accept that he is writing about himself, and only being generous when passing his own motivation on to others, the naivete becomes noble. He is sometimes brutally hard on himself, as when he admits bouts of self-doubt and the lack of worth of any of his endeavors but these bouts are routed, eventually, and place him firmly in the realm of humanity. I go back again to my notion of nobility: he is noble not only because of his strong inner motivation but because of his faults, and how he uses his faults as spurs to his motivation and not excuses for failure. Murakami is a noble guy who loves a cold beer, a good run, and music, all kinds of music (I could write another paragraph about his musical tastes but I am running out of time: I have my own priorities to set). Murakami is one of my favorite contemporary writers and now he is one of that category of people whom I don’t know but feel sure that I would like if I did. I certainly know him better now that I’ve read his memoir. I had read a portion of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, in The New Yorker and liked it, so I was sure I’d like the bigger package. And I sure did. |
