I finished reading "The Life of Pi". I started reading it when I heard Ang Lee's (Taiwan) film adaptation of the book was going to be released soon; this week now. As opposed to reading books after seeing films, which is what I have been doing, I thought this was a good opportunity to read the book before seeing the film, which I haven't done in a long time.

I have a lot of faith in Ang Lee. There's not much he can do that would disappoint me. He's a bold filmmaker who isn't afraid of challenges. Wang Kar-Wai (Hong Kong) is another of my favorite filmmakers, but I wouldn't argue against anyone who accused him of staying within a certain artistic comfort zone. He does his thing and he does it amazingly well. Ang Lee hasn't stayed in any comfort zone and I like that about him.

"The Life of Pi" is a fictional work by a Canadian writer about an Indian teenager who finds himself stranded in the open sea in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. Within the story itself, I was struck by the main character's drive to survive and how completely opposite that is to my own mindset.

That dedication and will to overcome life-threatening challenges and survive in life is totally foreign to me. And is totally fine and refreshing but doesn't change an alternative perspective that would be thrilled and excited about being faced with a situation of abandon and futility.

Survive? Why? Just accept. I jest. Survival in itself has its own rush as a moment of living, although in the big picture of human lifetimes, survival still does not avert the inevitable.

But the story isn't a spiritual or existential metaphor; the being stranded out in the ocean in a life-threatening situation and coming to terms with needing that life-threatening situation to survive, no, no, no.

It's a good read, but shouldn't be mistaken as a great lesson about life. The book itself states plainly what it is commenting on, something a little more mundane and to be honest it was a little bit of let-down. As if I had been bamboozled.

It's certainly not a story that will "make you believe in god", as purported by one character. The religious background laid down has nothing to do with the main events of the story. I would go so far as to obliquely even say the main events of the story are . . . literary.

Wow, November.

I look ahead several months and see February. Or March. Am I really still going to be here in February or March 2013? Slogging on with no direction, purpose or motivation? I'm not positing that as a bad thing, just fact.

It seems inconceivable, but several months ago – could've been May, could've been June – I was looking ahead several months, and seeing November and asking, "am I really still going to be here in November?" Another chilly, rainy winter?

Rilly, I am.

I guess that's what I get for taking things one day at a time, which is what recovering alcoholics and addicts are supposed to do when they're trying to get their lives back on track. Not the most productive game plan if I'm angling for a risky, radical path towards an understanding that only mystics and crazies have historically entertained.

Whenever I pull back and look at the big picture with my lifelong aspiration, I feel I should be more proactive about it. Maybe when I can, I will.

I don't posit having no direction, purpose or motivation as a bad thing for me, because I don't want direction, purpose or motivation at this point. I think it's fair to say I don't want, need or have those things because never in any of my life plans did I expect to still be here at this age.

Anything before in my life that I strove for, was motivated by or desired still assumed that I would've been dead long before getting to my current age. It's no wonder that I'm still here and am pretty content doing absolutely nothing productive or involved.

Still being here is a bit of a bonus maybe to keep cultivating the meditations I've come across, but just because I'm still here doesn't mean I'm gonna get worked up about having no direction, purpose or motivation.