“I miss you terribly sometimes, but in general I go on living with all the energy I can muster. Just as you take care of the birds and the fields every morning, every morning I wind my own spring. I give it some 36 good twists by the time I've got up, brushed my teeth, shaved, eaten breakfast, changed my clothes, left the dorm, and arrived at the university. I tell myself, "OK, let's make this day another good one." I hadn't noticed before, but they tell me I talk to myself a lot these days. Probably mumbling to myself while I wind my spring.”
In this quote by Haruki Murakami, the speaker expresses a longing for someone they miss terribly, but also demonstrates resilience and determination to carry on with life. The imagery of "winding my own spring" suggests the act of preparing oneself and building up energy for the day ahead. The repetitive daily routine described emphasizes the speaker's commitment to moving forward despite the absence of a loved one. The mention of talking to oneself and mumbling while winding the spring hints at a possible coping mechanism or self-soothing ritual. Overall, the quote conveys a sense of inner strength and the ability to find stability and purpose in the face of loss.
In this quote by Haruki Murakami, the protagonist equates winding their spring each morning with finding motivation and purpose to face the day ahead. This serves as a reminder to take care of ourselves and find our own inner strength, even in the midst of missing someone deeply. In today's fast-paced world, where self-care and mental well-being are increasingly important, this message serves as a poignant reminder to prioritize our own emotional and mental health.
In his novel, Haruki Murakami beautifully illustrates the idea of carrying on with life, despite missing someone deeply. The protagonist acknowledges the absence of a loved one but finds the motivation to face each day with positivity. This passage showcases the resilience and inner strength needed to move forward after experiencing loss or separation.
As you reflect on this quote by Haruki Murakami, consider the following questions:
“Just as you take care of the birds and the fields every morning, every morning I wind my own spring. I give it some thirty-six good twists by the time I've gotten up, brushed my teeth, shaved, eaten breakfast, changed my clothes, left the dorm, and arrived at the university. I tell myself, Ok, let's make this day another good one.”
“It's because of you when I'm in bed in the morning that I can wind my spring and tell myself I have to live another good day.”
“How many Sundays – how many hundreds of Sundays like this – lay ahead of me? “Quiet, peaceful and lonely,” I said aloud to myself. On Sundays i didn't wind my spring.”
“Can I be honest with you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? I mean, really, really, really honest? Sometimes I get sooo scared! I’ll wake up in the middle of the night all alone, hundreds of miles away from anybody, and it’s pitch dark, and I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen to me in the future, and I get so scared I want to scream. Does that happen to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? When it happens, I try to remind myself that I am connected to others—other things and other people. I work as hard as I can to list their names in my head. On that list, of course, is you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. And the alley, and the well, and the persimmon tree, and that kind of thing. And the wigs that I’ve made here with my own hands. And the little bits and pieces I remember about the boy. All these little things (though you’re not just another one of those little things, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, but anyhow…) help me to come back “here” little by little.”
“Between the end of that strange summer and the approach of winter, my life went on without change. Each day would dawn without incident and end as it had begun. It rained a lot in September. October had several warm, sweaty days. Aside from the weather, there was hardly anything to distinguish one day from the next. I worked at concentrating my attention on the real and useful. I would go to the pool almost every day for a long swim, take walks, make myself three meals.But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drank, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.”
“My very existence, my life in the world, seemed like a hallucination. A strong wind would make me think my body was about to be blown to the end of the earth, to some land I had never seen or heard of, where my mind and body would separate forever. “Hold tight,” I would tell myself, but there was nothing for me to hold on to.”