![]() ![]() Going from a mediocre California high school to Columbia University, I was faced with the reality that I was not so smart or special as I had thought, and that there were a great many people who knew a great deal more than me about a great many things. ![]() College was, for me, pretty overwhelming. Rereading him now, I’m embarrassed that I ever took him seriously, though I can see what must have been appealing. So I took a class on Eastern religion and read the Tao Te Ching, and I went to a couple of meetings of a campus group of Korean Taoists who all wore suits and ties and instructed me to chant until I could raise water from a bowl placed in front of me, but mostly I read Benjamin Hoff like everyone else. In college, I had a minor romantic entanglement with a hippie who changed my life by giving me a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, putting me on a Green Tortoise bus (she was eager to get me the hell out of Eugene, Oregon, where I was moping about because she had a new boyfriend when I came to visit), and telling me to look into Taoism. Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh (1982) and The Te of Piglet (1992) ![]()
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