And yet, even as he thought of all these things, he noticed somehow that the sky was a lovely shade of blue and that one cloud had the shape of a sailing ship. The tips of the trees held pale, young buds and the leaves were a rich deep green. Outside the window, there was so much to see, and hear, and touch—walks to take, hills to climb, caterpillars to watch as they strolled through the garden. There were voices to hear and conversations to listen to in wonder, and the special smell of each day.

—Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

This passage from the next to last page in the book, at least that’s where it’s found in my edition, has been coming to my mind a lot in the past few days. At this point in the story, Milo has returned to his bedroom from his incredible adventure and is feeling lonesome for the characters he shared the adventure with and feels eager to rejoin them for another trip. The tollbooth and car have been taken away though, by someone whose signature is blurred, for other boys and girls who need to be shown the way, to have their senses and awareness opened.

Milo begins to see his familiar surroundings with a whole new perspective compared to the one he at the beginning of the story. He sees new in the midst of old. I don’t think this delivers the message (at least it doesn’t deliver it to me) that what is is always what should be. In other words, I believe that sometimes we do need to change that which surrounds us rather than artificially molding our view of it — whatever that may mean. Opening our eyes and all our senses and looking through our own window with open senses can renew our perspective for what is beautiful in our world as well as what needs to change. Knowing the difference can be very tough because all is skewed by the lens and filter embedded within us, shaped by the total of our life experiences. When our eyes are open to what is truly beautiful, maybe we can then find the courage to be true to our own heart and change what is not.

illustration by Jules Feiffer

Aside: I wonder of Norton Juster and Lucy Maud Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables, were friends in another time. Anne: “Isn’t it splendid there are so many things to like in this world?” Another truth from Anne, this one from Anne of Windy Poplars: “One can always find something lovely to look at or listen to….”

“…I find one day and one hour exactly like another, except that the latter is still more tedious than the former. Let your experience inform me how the day may now seem as short as in my childhood, while nature was yet fresh, and every moment shewed me what I never had observed before.”

Rasselas, after a period of time between a realization that he needed to somehow find his way out to explore the world and find his own way:

“…but the months that have passed since new light darted into my soul, […] have been squandered by my own fault. I have lost that which can never be restored….”

‘Nothing, replied the artist, will ever be attempted if all possible objections must be first overcome.’

—Samuel Johnson, The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia

When I began my bachelor’s degree at a non-traditional age, my very first class was Western Classics II at 8:00 on a Tuesday morning. I have always enjoyed books and the stories they hold but have never been a voracious reader, devouring books for purely entertainment. I have been long been one to mark and underline — annotating the text just as I annotate life.

The first book assigned to us was Samuel Johnson’s The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia. (The title of this post is taken from the heading of Chapter 2.) As long ago as it was first published (1759), it was new for me. Although I could read for and process the ideas our professor was guiding us through, it was impossible for me to ignore several deep personal messages sent from the story to me. Our progressive and combined life experiences create a unique filter through which we process anything new that comes into our life. From the outside, most who knew the basics of my life would have assumed me to be content in the happy valley where I live. (I wrote the name of my town with a ? beside it the first time I came to that label —always italicized in the text— for the palace and grounds where Rasselas lived.) The discontent of Rasselas, though different from my own, and his quest to breach the walls of the happy valley to explore all the world held and to find his own choice of life (also always italicized) brought oxygen to a tiny little flame within me that had never been extinguished. And it began to grow.

I was very much at a point in life where I still felt trapped although I had taken one very important step toward making my life better: Going back to school. The obstacles to taking subsequent steps seemed overwhelming. And there was much beauty in my life even with the ugly that I kept secret. But the rumblings had begun. Scary as they were, I knew they were Good.

This post would be far too long if I shared every bit of text I underlined or highlighted. It is enough for me to put these thoughts down here and to turn back the pages of the book to read my thoughts and think about why I underlined and highlighted specific phrases, lines, or passages. The books I read over the next few years all are now like photo albums for me — full with images these markings evoke within my mind.