“No longer fed by a feeling of indispensability or purposefulness, we are hungry, not knowing what we are hungry for, we fill up the void with endless distractions, always at hand- unnecessary errands, compulsive duties, social niceties.” Might I add a myriad of other distractions of the modern age, with the advent of internet, smartphones, social media and all its endless content and connection.

In saying that, I risk sounding like a “kids these days!” boomer, though I’d argue there’s a universal truth in this. I found this quote almost haunting for a number of reasons: the trend cited here is clearly continuing, snowballing into societal catastrophe as our distractions are numerous and our lives, in large part due to unregulated capitalism and individualism, feel less worthy of living. By living, I mean actively experiencing, being surrounded by the present without another voice from a podcast or a short form video spat out by an algorithm. Personally, I’m one to defend all of this in the sense that our access to information, to engaging content and art, and to other people (especially those marginalized) when we may otherwise feel alone, is indispensable. I don’t wish to demonize technology, though it’s obvious that the way it’s been hijacked by businesses and their (neuro)marketers, and the incessant accessibility which therefore allows us, too, to be hijacked, is… damaging. 

What does any of that have to do with the damn essays? Well, minus the fact I simply like yapping, it’s to highlight that some of the sentiments are timeless. The writing is beautiful and many of Anne Morrow Lindberghs thoughts and observations are, though simple, still poignant reminders for us readers. I appreciated this book for its pretty, summery metaphors and delightful writing. The parts about valuing solitude and reflection, free from excessive distraction, “filling one’s own cup” sort of say, have hit me at the right time in my life and made me reflect even deeper on myself. I am grateful for that. 

What I appreciated less was the outdated aspects. It’s difficult to know how harshly to criticize a “work of its time,” but I found the writing almost undermined the labor of feminists and social movements (though admittedly, in my edition, she had written a reflection 20 years later about how some of her positions were naive and that these movements are invaluable.) Every passage about gender roles and phases of life all set in stone felt constricted to a singular idea of love that is not only outdated for straight people, but has almost never been true for queer people. As a queer person, I go through personal struggles that make it difficult to know how or why to love and if it’s safe, but what I know is that in my heart I always love. These essays seem to believe that to be impossible. Queer love is (more often than otherwise) not restrained to expectation; it is built from the rubble of “normal” that never suited us. In addition, there was a really jarring part where she

compared her experience of simplicity and solitude to that of a concentration camp survivor which felt almost comically insensitive. In her defense, this sentiment was supposedly told to her, though it’s odd nonetheless.

Also, yes, blah blah blah, she led a privileged life and it shows through the writing a little but… it’s nothing that ruins the text. Clearly, at least what I glean from this piece of writing is, this woman held no extreme prejudice or malice towards anyone, and most of this was a by-product of ignorance of the times. Still, though, all of this obviously impacts the reading experience. In general, I did find the latter half less interesting and more heady than the first, so less enjoyable but… it’s a short read, so it wasn’t at all grating. 

Okay, way too much text for this small little collection of essays. TL;DR: it’s a good and easy read, funnily enough, a nice beach read. You’ll have to look past some of the dated aspects, but there is still wisdom within. Worth a read if you’re at all intrigued.