This is my first encounter with Haruki Murakami. (I picked up this book by chance. It happened to be lying at the office. Ask me now if I believe in fate. Umm. Nope, still don’t.)
On the basis of my extensively-limited reading experience, I can say that his writing was quite refreshing. From the perspective of someone who was riddled with anxiety attacks throughout the day during the pandemic, I was cursed with a myopic view of things. Reading this book felt like lounging by the ocean or in the lap of foggy mountains, emptying the trough of a billion thoughts and just letting Mr. Murakami’s thoughts take over. A great therapy session.
Since the book is paced over several years of Haruki’s life and events, and his affair with running, I felt like I had the much-needed mentoring session on having a long-term view of things. It should have been a big help in reducing anxiety back during the pandemic, or at least have had a tinge of an effect on making me mindful during those moments, if, God forbid, I were to have them again.
I am going to take off on a tangent here and just say, there is not one thing that works. The word panacea does not exist. And if it does, could we redefine it? Redefine it to mean “one thing that has an effect on several things” rather than being a cure-all.
When I was working with my anxiety, I started off thinking several things were panaceas at several points of time. But it was never one thing. It was that 10 minute meditation session I had managed to persist through and go back to in spite of dropping off for several days. It was the 30 minute nature walk I tried to take every day. It was the discipline I was trying to form with book reading. It was every murmur of the hyperventilating “Happy Thoughts”. It was the memories of all those times I had tried to “increase my serotonin levels” consciously because the literature on anxiety and depression said so. It was the amalgamated knowledge of all the literature I had read to help me deal with the brain villains.
It was that voice of Haruki Murakami telling me of his experience with running and his tales of persistence. It was his tales of training and the time it took to pay off. It was his story of disqualification at the triathlon and his grit to go back. It was the description of every breeze I felt while he ran.