Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
It is probably strange to say that I am in love with a fictional character. Yet, I declare my affection for Zooey Glass without reservation, because this character drastically altered my perspective of the world. I first encountered Zooey while reading J.D. Salinger's novel, Franny and Zooey. Initially, I struggled with the text. The overabundance of symbols and allusions were enough to drive me up the wall. However, as I came to understand the Glass family, their tragedies, and their healing, I was, in a way, healed myself. I recognized myself in the sarcastic and bitter actor Zooey, and he helped me come to terms with my inner calamity. Although I was not blessed with intellectual and spiritual genius, I was a Glass. I was just as fragile and easily bruised as the Glass children were. But Zooey overcame his afflictions, and even had time to save me along the way.
Truthfully speaking, Zooey is far from the ideal hero. Being an antisocial prodigy in his twenties, he lives with his parents in a cluttered apartment. Though he is a handsome actor with a vast library of spiritual knowledge, his book expertise does not imply that he possesses wisdom. Rather, Zooey's attitude is portrayed as irrational and childish. Zooey sets impossibly high standards not only of artistic work but also of people. Thus, he is disappointed more often than not, with his job and with his family. When unsatisfied, he isolates himself from society by taking long baths and by repelling others through use of cruel remarks. When I was introduced to the unreformed Zooey, I was unaware of how similar we actually were. Although I had a friendlier disposition than the sarcastic, inconsiderate Zooey, I, too, was a hopeless idealist. Whereas Zooey had been occupied with the image of an ideal person, I had nurtured the image of an ideal life. I had it all planned out. I would live long and travel to my heart's content.
Volunteering at Pomerado Hospital was a part of my "plan", but after several weeks the future became blurred and uncertain. In the ward for long term residents, many patients were restricted to their beds and several were unable to speak or look straight. The building had the familiar nauseating hospital odor, but also reeked of stale urine. As I played bingo, went from room to room for visits, and wheeled around patients, I gained snippets of insight into their lives. One woman had fallen in love with her late husband when she was a young nurse; another had been a model in the prime of her life. The other volunteers and I enjoyed visiting a particular patient. She was a tiny woman of ninety-six years and she lay between her white sheets in a room covered with butterfly décor. We chatted about everything from her high school prom to her methods for keeping flowers fresh.
But on an afternoon like any other, the other volunteers and I were greeted with disturbing screams resounding from Station D. The same woman lay in a stretcher, demanding to see her son. She was unable to recognize me and had forgotten that Villa Pomerado had been her home for years. A stroke had led to memory loss. This woman, and countless others, each had their separate, intricate histories. They had loved, they had taken risks, and they had dreamed and aspired. But did they know they would fall ill? Had they accomplished their dreams in time? Time flies with age, and life's unpredictability only cuts the time spent alive. Here I was, struggling to go to a top college, while juggling my extracurricular activities, social life, and time reserved for sleep. But did it really matter? All it takes is a tragic car accident for me to lose the ability to use my legs, or simply old age for me to be restricted to my bed. I was suddenly faced with my vulnerability and the loss of an idealistic viewpoint on life. How much time was there, really, to pick up French, ride a hot air balloon, and write a novel? Upset by this realization, I withdrew. I withdrew from my religion, from my family, and from the wild imagination that usually filled my head.
Thankfully, Franny and Zooey had a therapeutic effect on me. In an attempt to bring his younger sister, Franny, out of a spiritual crisis, Zooey finally discovers the unhealthy impact his idealism has on his life. He repeats what his older brother told him years ago: "a man should be able to lie at the bottom of a hill with his throat cut, slowly bleeding to death, and if a pretty girl or an old woman should pass by with a beautiful jug on the top of her head, he should be able to raise himself up on one arm and see the jug safely over the top of the hill" (Salinger). Even in the worst of situations, I must recognize beauty when it is present. I know that someday, my legs will be too frail for me to stand up. But this does not mean I cannot run and jump in the present, while I still can. When I return to the hospital every Thursday, I no longer dwell upon the sick, frail bodies. Instead, I smile when I drop off mail, tell amusing stories, and water the Healing Garden. Zooey taught me to grow up-not physically, but emotionally. All in all, he taught me to pursue happiness from the smallest of opportunities, instead of waiting for the wildest of dreams to come true.
It is probably strange to say that I am in love with a fictional character. Yet, I declare my affection for Zooey Glass without reservation, because this character drastically altered my perspective of the world. I first encountered Zooey while reading J.D. Salinger's novel, Franny and Zooey. Initially, I struggled with the text. The overabundance of symbols and allusions were enough to drive me up the wall. However, as I came to understand the Glass family, their tragedies, and their healing, I was, in a way, healed myself. I recognized myself in the sarcastic and bitter actor Zooey, and he helped me come to terms with my inner calamity. Although I was not blessed with intellectual and spiritual genius, I was a Glass. I was just as fragile and easily bruised as the Glass children were. But Zooey overcame his afflictions, and even had time to save me along the way.
Truthfully speaking, Zooey is far from the ideal hero. Being an antisocial prodigy in his twenties, he lives with his parents in a cluttered apartment. Though he is a handsome actor with a vast library of spiritual knowledge, his book expertise does not imply that he possesses wisdom. Rather, Zooey's attitude is portrayed as irrational and childish. Zooey sets impossibly high standards not only of artistic work but also of people. Thus, he is disappointed more often than not, with his job and with his family. When unsatisfied, he isolates himself from society by taking long baths and by repelling others through use of cruel remarks. When I was introduced to the unreformed Zooey, I was unaware of how similar we actually were. Although I had a friendlier disposition than the sarcastic, inconsiderate Zooey, I, too, was a hopeless idealist. Whereas Zooey had been occupied with the image of an ideal person, I had nurtured the image of an ideal life. I had it all planned out. I would live long and travel to my heart's content.
Volunteering at Pomerado Hospital was a part of my "plan", but after several weeks the future became blurred and uncertain. In the ward for long term residents, many patients were restricted to their beds and several were unable to speak or look straight. The building had the familiar nauseating hospital odor, but also reeked of stale urine. As I played bingo, went from room to room for visits, and wheeled around patients, I gained snippets of insight into their lives. One woman had fallen in love with her late husband when she was a young nurse; another had been a model in the prime of her life. The other volunteers and I enjoyed visiting a particular patient. She was a tiny woman of ninety-six years and she lay between her white sheets in a room covered with butterfly décor. We chatted about everything from her high school prom to her methods for keeping flowers fresh.
But on an afternoon like any other, the other volunteers and I were greeted with disturbing screams resounding from Station D. The same woman lay in a stretcher, demanding to see her son. She was unable to recognize me and had forgotten that Villa Pomerado had been her home for years. A stroke had led to memory loss. This woman, and countless others, each had their separate, intricate histories. They had loved, they had taken risks, and they had dreamed and aspired. But did they know they would fall ill? Had they accomplished their dreams in time? Time flies with age, and life's unpredictability only cuts the time spent alive. Here I was, struggling to go to a top college, while juggling my extracurricular activities, social life, and time reserved for sleep. But did it really matter? All it takes is a tragic car accident for me to lose the ability to use my legs, or simply old age for me to be restricted to my bed. I was suddenly faced with my vulnerability and the loss of an idealistic viewpoint on life. How much time was there, really, to pick up French, ride a hot air balloon, and write a novel? Upset by this realization, I withdrew. I withdrew from my religion, from my family, and from the wild imagination that usually filled my head.
Thankfully, Franny and Zooey had a therapeutic effect on me. In an attempt to bring his younger sister, Franny, out of a spiritual crisis, Zooey finally discovers the unhealthy impact his idealism has on his life. He repeats what his older brother told him years ago: "a man should be able to lie at the bottom of a hill with his throat cut, slowly bleeding to death, and if a pretty girl or an old woman should pass by with a beautiful jug on the top of her head, he should be able to raise himself up on one arm and see the jug safely over the top of the hill" (Salinger). Even in the worst of situations, I must recognize beauty when it is present. I know that someday, my legs will be too frail for me to stand up. But this does not mean I cannot run and jump in the present, while I still can. When I return to the hospital every Thursday, I no longer dwell upon the sick, frail bodies. Instead, I smile when I drop off mail, tell amusing stories, and water the Healing Garden. Zooey taught me to grow up-not physically, but emotionally. All in all, he taught me to pursue happiness from the smallest of opportunities, instead of waiting for the wildest of dreams to come true.