I ran into Odysseus in Checkers the other day...
He was in the olive oil aisle, which felt appropriate. I could see he had been there long enough that the journey was no longer the point.
He picked up a bottle. Squinted at the label like a man who had survived monsters, storms, gods, and was now being asked to choose between cold-pressed and extra virgin.
January loves the idea of a hero, but nobody mentions what happens when the hero runs out of olive oil. Literature, having spent more time with them, knows it is usually less tidy.
Heroes rarely volunteer in books. Odysseus certainly didn’t. He was delayed, diverted, and detained. His journey became a series of digressions that slowly replaced the destination. By the time he got home, home barely recognised him. And that’s often how reading works too.
You begin with intention. You drift. You abandon books halfway through. You return to others years later and realise you’ve changed, or they have. Meaning arrives unevenly, or not at all.
By the time I reached the till, Odysseus was still there, weighing one bottle against another. He paused, looked at me, and for a moment I thought he might ask for advice.
He didn’t. He just sighed, picked up a bottle, put it back, and moved on. A hero still wandering, even in aisle three.
January is full of heroic intentions. Let your books be less heroic, more human: confused, wandering, a little ridiculous, and entirely worth following.
P.S. Literature has always known this, but more often than not, the hero is most interesting when they don't know what they're doing.