Do you ever think back on a book that you read in years past and find you remember, more than the story or the writing itself, the experience of reading it? Such is often the case when we reminisce about books from childhood.
As a kid, I did nothing halfway, and that included reading. My teachers, bless them, recognized this and wanted to reward my tenacity, so they gave me every book-obsessed kid’s dream assignment. I don’t remember the particular details of said assignment anymore. Perhaps it was a simple book report or something else, but I remember I got to pick a book much longer than the other kids in class. Something wordier and considered above grade level that would be ambitious for a kid my age, but was sure to challenge me enough to hold my interest.
Back in those days, I was a huge fan of my dad’s old “Tom Swift” books. Having just finished up the one with the submarine, I had developed a temporary fascination with undersea travel. My appetite for sci found I loved the idea of underwater worlds and nautical adventures. What could be more mysterious for a kid growing up in a desert, after all?
I knew just what book I wanted to try. If you’ve read the title of this blog, you already know which book it is.
Yes, my chosen title of ambition was none other than the classic adventure novel “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”. This book had discovery, lives of adventure, and exploration of the murky depths. A submarine! What more could a kid ask for?
Those who know me well know my habit of stretching myself too thin. This was an early example of that tendency.
The book wasn’t too tough for me. I tackled the adventures of Professor Arronax and the others with gusto, confident that I would blaze through it in no time and probably finish early. Eventually, I adjusted that expectation when I hit a slower part of the book and lost steam, but still never lost my confidence.
Such was my undoing, for confidence turned to cockiness.
Of course I would finish on time. I was Aaron. How could I not?
The above mindset placed me in quite a pickle. Coming back from winter break, the book was due to be finished in short order. To my dismay, far too many pages remained to finish in the time left, no matter how quickly I breezed through it.
My parents, blessed, patient, wonderful souls that they are, did everything they could to help. I have a vivid memory of getting ready for an event, and the two of them taking turns reading aloud to me while I got ready so I could sneak a few more pages in. Occasionally stopping to ask quick questions and make sure I was actually comprehending.
I spent every waking moment that wasn’t needed for other homework attacking the novel. Alas, I failed to make the deadline.
I recall that I still did pretty well on the assignment. I was honest and told the teacher about my overconfidence being my undoing, which she appreciated. Turns out, she had anticipated that the leviathan may prove a bit much for me and was prepared to grade in accordance. My tenacity and determination got me a good score, though far from a perfect one if memory serves.
Knowing that I had failed my intended ambition yet still succeeded acceptably was a bizarre emotional mix for my young mind to tackle. While a huge stress was relieved knowing that my academic scores wouldn’t be adversely affected, I still berated myself for a long time after. Even years later, the memory of it haunted me.
Years passed, and much reflection occurred before I would fully appreciate the lesson.
Said lesson being; bouncing back from setbacks and focusing on A) what you can control, and B) what you love about the process, is often just as important as achieving what you set out to. You don’t have to be perfect to achieve something outstanding and meaningful. You do have to forgive yourself, learn from your mistakes, and move on. I often struggle with the first and last of those three, even today.
I occasionally have to relearn parts of this lesson in my adulthood. Such is life. But each time, I get better. Which, really, is what the lesson is all about.
So, ultimately, “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” was a mixed bag of experiences for me. The book itself is a grand adventure. The experience of reading it was two things. An invigorating challenge that helped me prove my capability to myself, and a sore spot of defeat that revealed some of my own weaknesses to me.
I have yet to revisit the book. For two decades I refused to own a copy, though a couple of years back I bought one from the library discard store. I’ve opened it a few times, but have yet to brave the waters. Someday I will, though, and I suspect the experience will be a cathartic one.
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