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Wild: A Journey from Lost to Found

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She worked the day shift at a factory that manufactured plastic containers capable of holding highly corrosive chemicals and brought the rejects home. Kate Morton on The Great Alone Hannah has delivered a masterclass in all the different ways love can both save us and destroy us [. Naming her Alice, Julia is determined to free her from a prison of unimaginable fear and isolation, and discover the truth about Alice’s past. A song without words, but my mother knew the words anyway and instead of answering my question she sang them softly to me.

As much as I’d pulled away from him in the years after my mother’s death, I’d also leaned hard into him. In Slate, Melanie Rehak began by contrasting Wild with the 2006 memoir Eat, Pray, Love—whose story was "pleasant, mild, romantic, and completely lacking urgency" and in which everything would work out. They were all wearing shiny green paper hats and green shirts and green suspenders and drinking green beer. At staging posts on the trail – not towns but straggly outposts of civilisation – she picked up resupply boxes she had mailed to herself.Our kitchen was a Coleman camp stove, a fire ring, an old-fashioned icebox Eddie built that depended on actual ice to keep things even mildly cool, a detached sink propped against an outside wall of the shack, and a bucket of water with a lid on it. Hikers can share their own “Wild” stories, adding text and images to a database full of stories of people who took to the trail after being inspired by Cheryl’s own journey. I wanted to scream at him when he walked in the door a half hour later, to shake him and rage and accuse, but when I saw him, all I could do was hold him and cry. In spite of my recent forays into edgy urban life, I was easily someone who could be described as outdoorsy. We’d both transferred to the University of Minnesota after that first year—she to the Duluth campus, I to the one in Minneapolis—and, much to our amusement, we shared a major.

Crediting the years that passed between Strayed's 1995 hike and her 2012 memoir, Rehak wrote that Strayed had "fine control" over "unfathomable, enormous experiences" and never wrote "from a place of desperation in the kind of semi-edited purge state that has marred so many true stories. The vented metal box in the corner turned itself on again and I went to stand before it, letting the frigid air blow against my bare legs. It would turn out to be the last full day of her life, and for most of it she held her eyes still and open, neither sleeping nor waking, intermittently lucid and hallucinatory. Anyone who promotes the Mao era as the era most free of corruption, who knows Mao was responsible for the death of well over 70 million Chinese . But I have often met people in China, at dinner parties for example, who seem very calm and cheerful on the surface but have trauma deeply etched on their mind.Such as if a doctor told you that you were going to die soon, you’d be taken to a room with a gleaming wooden desk. She was preoccupied with nothing but eradicating her pain, an impossible task in the spaces of time between the doses of morphine. Each night the black sky and the bright stars were my stunning companions; occasionally I’d see their beauty and solemnity so plainly that I’d realize in a pier Mostly, I watched her sleep, the hardest task of all, to see her in repose, her face still pinched with pain. Strayed reminds us of what it means to be fully alive, even in the face of catastrophe, physical and psychic hardship, and loss.

For some reason that sentence came fully formed into my head just then, temporarily blotting out the Fuck them prayer. Blood is thicker than water, my mother had always said when I was growing up, a sentiment I’d often disputed. Just for a minute,” said my mother, almost collapsing into one, her eyes meeting mine before Eddie wheeled her toward the elevator. She commanded me to do it, and each time I would get down on my knees and cry, begging her not to make me, but she would not relent, and each time, like a good daughter, I ultimately complied. Elizabeth Gilbert’s wildly popular Eat, Pray, Love—based on Gilbert’s travels to Italy, India, and Indonesia in the wake of her marriage’s dissolution—is also centered around its narrator’s desire for healing, understanding, and redemption (and was also adapted into a major motion picture).Not down over the light of her cheeks to the corners of her mouth, but away from the edges of her eyes to her ears and into the nest of her hair on the bed.

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