Nicholson Baker's mini coming-of-age story, effectively weaved into The Mezzanine, troubled me for the many moments it took to read. At first, I felt bad for Howie. It saddened me to think that adult Howie didn't quite live up to the expectations of little person Howie. But that disappointment quickly morphed into worry, and then contentment as the connections began rolling in.
I, too, am the sort of person who says "actually" too much. While this may be considered a minuscule, common link to any other American English-speaking human, it is a link nonetheless, and a single link can drive one to look for more. Some interpret this process of seeking out connections as over-analyzation, but these miniature realizations can open up the mind to a heightened self-awareness.
I've realized that I am the sort of person who longs to know more about
the musicologists behind Pandora recommendations. I am the sort of
person who despises writing more than almost anything. I am the sort of
person who gets excited about the intricacies of language and the
etymologies behind lovely words. I am the sort of person who geeked out
in her saxophone lesson yesterday because a phrase that was minor and
smooth all the way through ended with a major riff AND an accent, where
it would have remained perfectly natural to taper the phrase and keep
the little pitches of joy hidden in their subtlety. (It was crazy; I
can't imagine how many times I had played those lines and not even
noticed this gentle shift just before the new beginning!)
When I was younger, as it goes with most people, I had high aspirations for my future. I was going to be a rock star! No, wait, a veterinarian! Or the scientist known for curing unhappiness! Now, none of those things will happen. I won't change the world with my music (the music industry is too political for my liking), but maybe I can change someone's day. I won't heal living creatures' ailments (too little margin for error), but maybe I can be the companion of one. I won't cure unhappiness (for I've found that little can be accomplished without a degree of discontent, not to mention the infinite struggle for dominance between my brain and scientific writing), but maybe I can bring a smile to a person's eyes. These things that I will never do, I was never meant to do--and that's perfectly fine. To quote Howie, "once the first shock of raw surprise had passed, the feeling was not unpleasant."
It's hard to say if any of these realizations will lead me to greatness, but I won't mind if they don't. Like Howie, I've decided that the things I love are more important than the successes I may achieve. Measuring life in your own accomplishments is no way to live; just like declaring that all mortal life is "transient and trivial," this perspective limits a person's ability to pursue the simplicities. Of course, all of this is not to say I'm done with my large-scale growth as a human being quite yet. I know I still have a long way to go. It does, however, mean that I better know which way that path will lead.
I really like this post, since it gets at something I've been trying to put my finger on about The Mezzanine. It's not that Howie criticizes ambition, but he's content if he doesn't get something that he wants. His childlike wonder and appreciation of the world will make him happier than all the achievements in the world will make some people. In a sense, despite his perhaps childish view of the world can give him wisdom and maturity that the more "adult" out there will never reach. It's another reason I appreciated The Mezzanine so much: behind a simple premise lies an interesting tale, and so much that can be applied to our lives, if we only notice things a little closer.
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