"The Dream of a Common Language" by Adrienne Rich. I carried it the entire hike. On my first night, when I felt like I was in too deep, I read the first poem out loud to myself over and over.
Cheryl StrayedThe useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead peopleโs diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.
Cheryl StrayedWe are savages insides. We all want to be the chosen, the beloved, the esteemed. There isn't a person reading this who hasn't at one point or another had that why not me? voice pop into the interior mix when something good has happened to someone else.
Cheryl StrayedBlood is thicker than water, my mother had always said when I was growing up, a sentiment Iโd often disputed. But it turned out that it didnโt matter whether she was right or wrong. They both flowed out of my cupped palms.
Cheryl StrayedThe amount that she loved us was beyond her reach. It could not be quantified or contained. It was the ten thousand named things in the Tao Te Chingโs universe and then ten thousand more. Her love was full-throated and all-encompassing and unadorned. Every day she blew through her entire reserve.
Cheryl Strayed