Into the Wild

I saw Into the Wild a couple of days ago. It's the true story of a rich kid who graduated from college, abandoned society, and starved to death in the wilderness. The movie's pretty good, if a bit self-conscious. Director Sean Penn just can't seem to let the story tell itself, and an otherwise compelling narrative is repeatedly interrupted by split screens, floating words, faux-seventies home videos and, most horribly of all, Eddie Vedder's ego-driven wailing.

But still, I liked it. Mostly because I related to it. Adventurer Christopher McCandless reminded me of my brother. And Carine, his younger sister, reminded me of me. Its not an exact match. Chris hated his parents and shunned his family in a fit of adolescent self-righteousness, while Kyle had a comparatively good relationship with mom and dad. Chris formed meaningful friendships only to abandon them in service of some perceived greater good, while my brother formed friendships as if that were what he were put on this earth to do. But one thing the movie did well was show us that there was something magical about Chris, some element in his speech and smile that put people in awe, and everyone who knew Kyle saw the same thing in him.

Chris spends a lot of the movie meeting strangers and making them love him. Moms, grandpas, drunks, they all fall for Chris. They're surprised by their love, they don't understand how such a young punk could have hooked them so thoroughly, and when he goes they cry because they will miss him so much. Wherever he is, Chris doesn't want for things. People give him jobs and rides and food, and he seems to know they will before they do, so that he sets out on baking tarmac into the dessert, confident he will be picked up and driven to the other side. Chris was a revolutionary. At the start of his journey, he donates his savings and cuts up his credit cards. He wants to live free of things and tested by his capabilities. He abandons his car. He burns his money.

Kyle was not this drastic. Maybe because he didn't have the time. He was still in college when he died. He had just began to wander the world, taking trips with a backpack and one pair of pants, flying without a plan and trusting that he would find a couch. But who knows who he would have become if he had had more time. He read old books, he broke the law, he had surprising wisdom. He saw life's opportunities not in career or status, but in people and places. He was capable of being loved wherever he went. His email address for years was burnyourmoney@sbcglobal.net.

Carine and I aren't a perfect match, either. I'm older than Kyle and didn't spend much time with Carine's fawn-eyed look on my face. But I recognized in her narration a sadness and longing and deep, deep respect for who her brother was. She saw that her brother a better person than the rest of us. A braver, wiser, freer person, and she knew that people like that must be allowed their wildness and refusal and seemingly foolish decisions. You have to trust them, because they're going for something different, something you can't even conceive of, and even if they fail, that they tried is a better thing than you will ever do.

Carine figured it out early, while her brother was still alive. Me, it took Kyle's death. But I don't mind. As I learned from brother, timetables don't matter. What matters is that I finally came to see what the rest of you knew about Kyle all along.