A Lingering Moment: Sharing Happiness in Into The Wild

Towards the end of Into The Wild, Sean Penn's 2007 adaptation of of John Krakuer's book by the same name, Chris McCandless is alone, in an abandoned bus in the Alaskan wilderness, starving to death. Mustering all of his waning energy, he writes a final message in the white space of a book he is reading: "Happiness is only real when shared."

Of course, the tragedy of the moment is that McCandless is debilitated completely and on the brink of death. In fact, this one action takes colossal effort. In that moment, it is clear what Penn wants me to consider, for it is the same thing McCandless must be contemplating. At key points in his travels he found happiness: when playing guitar with Tracy; working on leather with Ron; hanging out in the bar with Wayne. Only on the brink of losing it forever does McCandless realize what he had but has now lost.

The scene lingers because it makes me interrogate my own life, my own actions. It is beyond cliche to say that "don't take life for granted" and "treasure those around you." So I won't say it. Still, watching this scene, it is hard to shake the questions: do I give enough of myself to those I love? Do I accept without conditions those I love? Do I realize how much of my own happiness comes from those I love? I want to say yes. But what is my evidence?

In English, we have been reading essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. The fact that Into The Wild raises these questions about love and happiness points to something that might be missing from "Self-Reliance" and "Civil Disobedience." We are social animals. Yes, I want to believe in myself. Yes, I want to learn to "watch for the light that flashes"(Emerson, "Self-Reliance") across my mind. Yes, I want to "devote myself to. . .contemplations" without exploiting others (Thoreau, "Civil Disobedience). But what else? In these essays, both thinkers emphasize a person's solitary nature, especially as she pursues her interests. For most of the film, McCandless is a perfect representation of this. There is something romantic and alluring about the spectacular way he breaks from his family and the institutions that have shaped his life. When he is lecturing his parents about "things," abandoning his car in New Mexico, and kayaking down the Colorado, I can imagine that light flashing in McCandless's mind and his utter devotion to it.

Ultimately, this devotion makes the end of the film that much more powerful. In the last moment, I find that McCandless's scratchy, hard-fought realization undermines so much about Emerson and Thoreau's insistence on self-reliance. Of course I want to believe in myself.  But I also want to be confident that those I love are secure in their knowledge that I am there for them. That my happiness and theirs depends on us, not I.

How do I balance both of these impulses? That's a good question.