A Million Miles In A Thousand Years

Pigs flew and Satan donned a parka the day BD handed me Donald Miller’s new book, A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, and it excited me. To say our respective choice of literary readings is bipolar seems a meager explanation. However, as depicted by Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam, sometimes the divine reaches hard to touch humanity.

Two chapters into A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, I was shaking my head in perplexion. My preconceived notions that this was another memoir written similar to Through Painted Deserts, on a bike instead of a Volkswagen van, were being shattered. Ironically, the bicycle spoke cover mis-portrayed the pages within its bound.

Overcoming my disappointment, I trudged forward; little by little being swept into the story about the concept of stories. As one who enjoys writing and storytelling, I found myself relearning the basic concepts of a story; reliving my days in Ms. Grantland’s classroom. As an individual who is clutched tightly within the grasp of a crappy economy, unemployed, eagerly anticipating the ‘next thing’ yet bewildered by the sluggish response, I found myself enamored by the stories of getting up and going. Miller’s practice story of hiking Machu Picchu captivated my adventuresome self. The tales and lessons of riding across the United States made my legs yearn for a long trek. It is not a surprise that his most poignant writings (to me) involved a kayak, a paddle and lots of water.

“The night we left Bob’s dock, I didn’t want to paddle through the night or across the wide inlet. We didn’t leave his dock till after midnight, and we had to paddle for hours through the pitch black, and the middle of the inlet was so large and the dark was so dark we couldn’t make out either shore. We had to guide ourselves by stars, each boat gliding close to another, just the sound of our oars coming in and out of the water to keep us close.

I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can’t see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses, and they go looking for an easier story.”

When I closed the book in the wee hours of the morning having read the 250 pages, I said to myself that it was a good book but not one of his best. Days later I have proved myself wrong. I continue to mull over its contents, process it among friends, and even shared snippets of it during our life group.

One of the main thoughts I continue to ponder is: Many times we get caught up in the purpose of going, when we really need to just go and purpose will come with the trek.

The downside to the book is that I will probably never watch the film, Blue Like Jazz. Not that this is surprising to those who know me. But, this book made it apparent as to why books rarely transfer well onto the screen and is demonstrated effectively in the screenplay conversations written on the pages.