Long ago, in a single-girl galaxy far, far away, I was in a San Francisco taqueria, halfway through a date with an unremarkable man. I was recounting to him my annual New Year’s resolution to read 30 books in a year-something I have never actually done, but that I resolve to do year after year, you know…aspirationally. He responded with an almost imperceptible scoff and informed me that he too was a big reader, having read 60 books himself that year. I congratulated him on this achievement and countered with the fact that, while I may have fallen woefully short of my goal that year (I read only 9 books), one of them had been War and Peace, and surely that counted for at least four books.
My literary pride was met with a blank face.
“What’s that?”, my date asked.
I was, as the youth say, *shook*: “War and Peace? The Russian novel? Leo Tolstoy? One of the greatest novels ever written?” “Arguably the most important novel in the classic literary canon??” There was not even the slightest flicker of recognition. The man had never heard of War and Peace.
Now, before I go hurting anyone’s feelings, I don’t expect everyone to know who Leo Tolstoy is. I do, however, expect arrogant twenty-somethings who have gone to college, who live in a cultural wellspring, and who have purportedly read “60 books in a year” to have at least heard of one of the central literary works of all time.
I somehow managed to pick my jaw (and fallen hopes of a love connection) off the floor to carry on the conversation. He too managed to get over his lack of literary context enough to ask why this one book took me six months to read.
I waxed poetic on why, while it may have been a labor of love (or just a labor), being able to say I read it felt like a victory. How it was a pleasure to simply be a bystander, if not comprehending participant, in the wordsmithery of one of the greats. How, even though I may not have understood every word or followed every nuanced plot line, it was still beautiful to read. His confusion grew: “But why would you read something you don’t like?”
But I did like it-I tried to explain to him that, though I wouldn’t describe War and Peace as a “page turner”, I truly enjoyed the challenge and the pride that came with finishing the 600-something-page Russian novel.
I guess I shouldn’t have been that surprised that he didn’t get it… Why would he understand the victory of finishing a book that had heretofore been unknown to him. I was surprised, though, at his lack of comprehension of the general concept: basic satisfaction from doing something difficult. I implored him to find an example in his own life where he had maybe not enjoyed something in the traditional sense, but was pleased with himself for finishing. He came up empty. This man could not for the life of him understand doing something simply for the challenge. I had to explain to him the basic joy of “a hard day’s work”.
Needless to say, there was not a second date-in fact, the first date ended somewhat unceremoniously when he simply walked out of the restaurant as I went to get some tinfoil to wrap up my leftover quesadilla-but he set an important benchmark for future suitors: Must Have Heard of War and Peace.
At the time this happened, my friends and I had a spreadsheet to codify the *many* men we were collectively dating. To the columns labeled “Name”, “Redeeming Qualities” and “First Date”, we added one at the end that simply said “War and Peace”. This standard was not really meant to judge literary prowess. Rather, it served as an indicator that the man was well-rounded and up for a challenge, something that is increasingly hard to find in a city as privileged and affluent as San Francisco.
I’ve been thinking about this date recently as the new year draws nearer. In the emotional and vocational upheaval of my mid-twenties more and more of what I thought my life would look like turns out to be wrong. And in light of the fact that Plan A was all wrong and Plan B has yet to fully materialize, the only thing I can really do is focus on (1) What I love and (2) how that fits into the world around me. I went through that cycle once already-I found something I loved, and was good at, and work toward integrating that into the world around me. And it turns out it *didn’t* integrate into the world, at least not the way I’d hoped. So now I have no choice but to challenge myself, to try things I don’t know that I’ll enjoy, or be good at, simply for the sake of self-discovery.
This date, and this important standard, remind me that I want people in my life who enjoy challenging themselves, who want to try things outside of their comfort zone, and who take pride in doing new, odd, and difficult things. It also reminds me that I value challenging myself. You don’t have to read War and Peace if that’s really not your jam-you can engage in a debate, take a class, try a sport-because the point of all this, of challenging your mind, or your body, or your patience, is to . If we don’t go outside your emotional and intellectual comfort zone regularly, we become stunted and short-sighted. And there is too much at stake in this world for us to stay in one place. So whatever you do, do something hard.