The Book That Wrecked Me

It was one of those strange, rare, almost-never-happens kind of days. My husband and kids were traveling out of town without me, so I was home alone. I had already scrubbed everything and over-worked myself on my computer, and my brain was tired. So I was scrolling Instagram and ran across a book promo for a new author and her first memoir — Maggie Doyne’s Between the Mountain and the Sky.

“Looks interesting,” I thought. Then, a little later, I hopped back on my computer into my email and saw I had an invitation from The Strand Bookstore for a pub-day Zoom meeting that night with Elizabeth Gilbert and Maggie Doyne herself. And I thought, “What the heck” and hopped on.

As soon as I heard her story, I knew I had to get the book. The more I listened, the more I wanted to listen. Before the Zoom meeting was over, I had bought and downloaded it. Now, just over three months later, I’m realizing just how much it’s given me.

I’m starting to see that I’ve been thoroughly wrecked by this book.

Completely.

Utterly.

Thoroughly wrecked.

I’ve listened to the audiobook twice — straight through back to back — and everything within me wants to listen to it again and again, to keep sinking into the story, to let Maggie Doyne’s words wash over me all over again until I get whatever gift or revelation this book is trying to give me.

Of course, I could merely be longing to travel to Nepal on her words, to feel her feelings of accomplishment and purpose instead of my own feelings of inadequacy and aimlessness. It’s an escape, for sure, but deep down I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to learn in these pages instead.

I can’t quite put my finger on it just yet.

When I reach the epilogue for the second time, I hop online and search her Kopila Valley School and BlinkNow.org websites, taking in the photos of the scenes and children from the book.

No luck.

No huge revelation.

No zing of clarity.

I buy a hardback copy of the book and start reading it a little each day, sneaking in a paragraph or two while eating lunch, pulling it close for just a couple of pages before I drift off to sleep at night.

Lost in the story again each time.

Searching.

Still searching.

Still without knowing exactly why.

My heart swells with every page I read, but I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do with that swell, what exactly it means.

I only know the changes that have come about in my heart since I listened to the first line of this book on audio a few months ago, how thoroughly Maggie’s words have wrecked so many of my distractions and illusions since then.

Now that I’ve read her story, I marvel at how much easier it is for me to leave social media alone, release my ambitions for popularity, let go of my need to be noticed.

I smile as I realize how much more deeply I’m writing, how much more present I am with my family, how much more open my mind has become about international development.

My face lights up when I realize how much more readily I am now to recognize a mother’s grief, to empathize with her hard times, to relate to her suffering, and how deeply gratitude has been stitched into my heart, along with a keen awareness of the little things I’ve so often taken for granted growing up and raising my children in America.

My heart aches as I think about the vast numbers of children and families, mothers, daughters, and sons in need all over this world and how difficult it has become to truly help them long-term.

As a result, my dream of being a part of that solution has grown exponentially.

Maybe that’s enough of a purpose for this book having come into my life, enough of a zing, at least for now.

Or maybe it’s not.

Maybe I’m meant to do something with this feeling.

So I look for opportunities, I keep working at what I know, keep watching, keep my mind and my heart open.

I think this is the best way to be wrecked by someone else’s story.

And yet, I have to be honest with you — it almost wrecked me in a bad way.

It almost sent me into despair over my own life’s lack of meaning and purpose compared to Maggie’s. Comparison — that’s exactly why this book almost wrecked me in a bad way. My first thought when I read her story was to berate myself for not doing something like her.

Thankfully, I moved past that.

Thankfully, we’re not meant to compare.

We’re meant to live our own stories with new information — to be wrecked in good ways.

That’s what I’m choosing.

To grow.

To change.

To be grateful for big, beautiful, world-changing stories like Maggie’s — and for our own big and little stories too.

If you take my word that it’s a good one and decide to read  Maggie Doyne’s Between the Mountain and the Sky, I hope you’ll let it wreck you in a good way, too.

And then, I hope you’ll come over to the email group and tell me all about it.

I’ll see you there.