Walt Whitman at 37. From Wikipedia.
After my post from a month ago, I’ve been on a Whitman kick.
Leaves of Grass is available for free download—perfect for keeping in your digital library and pulling up when the moment feels right.
Lately, I’ve been taking short breaks during the day. I grab a beach chair stashed under my desk, head to a nearby tree with a commanding view of the Continental Divide, and read—some time away from the beige box and the techie work I do.
And in those moments? I’ve become reacquainted with Mr. Whitman.
A pragmatic romantic.
An American voice at our most egalitarian ideal—celebrating rich and poor, craftsmen and “professionals”, men and women, the commonplace and the majestic.
As I’ve mentioned before, he also speaks to the pull of the open road – of travel and transformation, of stepping beyond the boundaries we set for ourselves.
During these reading breaks, I keep returning to the eleventh part of Song of the Open Road:
Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve…
These lines are often overlooked in favor of the more romantic passages—the parts about encompassing all directions, meeting people and taking their counsel, taking in the vast spaces, and going where the winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.
Lines full of energy and potential. Making almost anyone want to pack a bag and just go!
But the eleventh section is quieter. Written for the camerado who would join Whitman on these travels, I think it is some cautionary advice to anyone thinking of taking to the open road.
In my twenties, the romantic aspects of The Song of the Open Road were easy to grasp. I followed a long, brown path and welcomed the changes it brought to my life. The first lines of this poem teem with promise, freedom, and the urge to move on. What is there to lose? You can only experience the liberty of the open road.
Twenty years later, the lines from the eleventh section speak louder.
It is easy to continue on the path of the old smooth prizes. However, the rough new prizes can offer immense potential. There is more to give up in our 40s than in our 20s. But it seems there is so much more to gain in the process. It is a matter of taking a calculated risk and having the freedom to do so.
Whitman tempers his romanticism with pragmatism. And only with some age and experience, maybe even a little weariness, do I fully appreciate his more profound message.
Or maybe it’s not caution at all. Perhaps it’s encouragement.
Whitman didn’t write this poem for the social media age, where every moment is curated and every journey appears seamless. The poem transcends the time it was written, with a message that will remain true in the 1850s, the 1950s, now, and when most of us will be long gone.
His words are both sobering and invigorating.
Take to the open road. The journey won’t be smooth or perfect. And perhaps rough. But as Whitman promises, the rewards can be vast.
That’s enough musings on Whitman for a bit. Back to pretty photos, oddball gear discussion, or a take on an outdoor issue next. I promise. 🙂