In a different situation.
It’s true. Last week he wrote, “I’ve been choosing pocket-sized books and Plays as they’re easier to stuff in my suit rather than have to carry a bag. But I’m finding great joy in the moving in and out of stories and characters more quickly.”
I’m finding great joy in the fact that “Plays” are worthy of capitalization in the world of Mraz. Why shouldn’t they be?
My reading habits have been the same lately. Now that I commute by stuffy train instead of sexy little blue car, I’m able to get through more books, but I have to carry them with me. I made the mistake of getting the three-in-one paperback edition of Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy, weighing in around eight pounds or so. (Amazon claims 1.9 pounds. I question their methods.) It took up so much of the space in my bag I couldn’t bring a lunch to work with me for a week. When I finally finished it off and moved on to short stories by Chekhov my shoulder was very grateful, although my brain because a little disgruntled. Not a single winged creature or magic spell in the book, just a lot of brooding. Russians are so damn moody.
Jason also wrote that the desire to live (literature-wise, I believe) through every era, to explore and understand people from different times and worlds, was so overwhelming that it could be depressing. I feel that way whenever I go into a book store. There are so many possibilities for places to go, without even touching the travel section, that I can become frozen with indecision. I solve the problem by getting a little bit of everything, hopping through literary time and space like, um, you know.
My bedside table has three or four books on it at all times, one that’s almost done, one of short stories or something that can be picked up and read bit by bit, one that I haven’t started yet but I leave out so that I remember what I want to read next, and then “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”. It’s been there since the day after it came out when I finished it at 3:00 a.m. I can’t bear to put it away on the shelf, but I’m not quite ready to re-read it yet, so it just sits there, my hardbound security blanket.
In the end though, the message of Mraz remains the same: Be happy to be who you are, where you are, when you are. Easy, eh?
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together,