Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER ¿ “As inviting, wide-ranging, and philosophical as an all-night conversation with a best friend, and as revealing and thought-provoking as the diary of a curious adventurer.”-Sasha Sagan, author of For Small Creatures Such as We

You can travel the world looking for yourself, but if you don't know what you're looking for, how can you find it? Like Streams To The Ocean is about examining the things that make us who we are and getting to know ourselves, our stories, and the decisions that shape our one and only life. 
 
Writing with the passion and clarity that made his debut, To Shake the Sleeping Self, a national bestseller, Jedidiah Jenkins brings together new and old writings to explore the eight subjects that give life meaning: ego, family, home, friendship, love, work, death, the soul.

Who am I? What am I made of? How much of how I act boils down to avoiding the things that make me feel small? As he examines the experiences that shape our conscious and subconscious answers to these questions, Jenkins leads readers in a wide-ranging conversation about finding fulfillment in the people and places around us and discovering the courage to show our deepest selves to the world.
1136318995
Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER ¿ “As inviting, wide-ranging, and philosophical as an all-night conversation with a best friend, and as revealing and thought-provoking as the diary of a curious adventurer.”-Sasha Sagan, author of For Small Creatures Such as We

You can travel the world looking for yourself, but if you don't know what you're looking for, how can you find it? Like Streams To The Ocean is about examining the things that make us who we are and getting to know ourselves, our stories, and the decisions that shape our one and only life. 
 
Writing with the passion and clarity that made his debut, To Shake the Sleeping Self, a national bestseller, Jedidiah Jenkins brings together new and old writings to explore the eight subjects that give life meaning: ego, family, home, friendship, love, work, death, the soul.

Who am I? What am I made of? How much of how I act boils down to avoiding the things that make me feel small? As he examines the experiences that shape our conscious and subconscious answers to these questions, Jenkins leads readers in a wide-ranging conversation about finding fulfillment in the people and places around us and discovering the courage to show our deepest selves to the world.
17.5 In Stock
Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are

Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are

by Jedidiah Jenkins

Narrated by Jedidiah Jenkins

Unabridged — 7 hours, 8 minutes

Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are

Like Streams to the Ocean: Notes on Ego, Love, and the Things That Make Us Who We Are

by Jedidiah Jenkins

Narrated by Jedidiah Jenkins

Unabridged — 7 hours, 8 minutes

Audiobook (Digital)

$17.50
FREE With a B&N Audiobooks Subscription | Cancel Anytime
$0.00

Free with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription | Cancel Anytime

START FREE TRIAL

Already Subscribed? 

Sign in to Your BN.com Account


Listen on the free Barnes & Noble NOOK app


Related collections and offers

FREE

with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription

Or Pay $17.50

Overview

Notes From Your Bookseller

The second book from the thoughtful Jenkins after his amazing debut, To Shake the Sleeping Self. Here, he considers what one must do to live a full and authentic life by focusing on key questions we must all ask ourselves. As he did in his first book, Jenkins' gift of self reflection and observation draws us in and inspires us to do more, try more and be more and to be grateful for our lives.

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER ¿ “As inviting, wide-ranging, and philosophical as an all-night conversation with a best friend, and as revealing and thought-provoking as the diary of a curious adventurer.”-Sasha Sagan, author of For Small Creatures Such as We

You can travel the world looking for yourself, but if you don't know what you're looking for, how can you find it? Like Streams To The Ocean is about examining the things that make us who we are and getting to know ourselves, our stories, and the decisions that shape our one and only life. 
 
Writing with the passion and clarity that made his debut, To Shake the Sleeping Self, a national bestseller, Jedidiah Jenkins brings together new and old writings to explore the eight subjects that give life meaning: ego, family, home, friendship, love, work, death, the soul.

Who am I? What am I made of? How much of how I act boils down to avoiding the things that make me feel small? As he examines the experiences that shape our conscious and subconscious answers to these questions, Jenkins leads readers in a wide-ranging conversation about finding fulfillment in the people and places around us and discovering the courage to show our deepest selves to the world.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

Jenkins’s thoughts on ego, family, home, friendship, love, work, death and the soul include pithy ones like, ‘It can be hard to tell the difference between an outcast and a pioneer,’ and ‘Your sense of self is built or broken by the company you keep.’”The Washington Post, “10 Books to Read in February”

“Jedidiah Jenkins is a beautiful, attentively humane writer whose vivid prose comes suffused with the noble belief that words really do matter, and that through them we can know and be known. There is wisdom in this book, as well as something rarer still: the genuine and infectious faith that the good life—what the philosophers call flourishing—is attainable, and that one really can improve. I couldn’t put these essays down.”—Thomas Chatterton Williams, author of Self-Portrait in Black and White

Like Streams to the Ocean is as inviting, wide-ranging, and philosophical as an all-night conversation with a best friend, and as revealing and thought-provoking as the diary of a curious adventurer.”—Sasha Sagan, author of For Small Creatures Such as We

“It’s rare to find the level of honesty and authenticity that Jenkins brings to his audience. In a world of constant noise, his storytelling is piercing in an almost familiar way. He’s managed to home in on that single idea that we all relate to and truly make you feel a part of the experience. This is the type of storytelling the world needs more of.”—Chris Burkard, award-winning photographer, author of At Glacier’s End

Praise for To Shake the Sleeping Self

“With winning candor, Jedidiah Jenkins takes us with him as he bicycles across two continents and delves deeply into his own beautiful heart. Every page of this book made me ache to know what happened next. Every chapter shimmered with truth. It’s an unforgettable debut.”—Cheryl Strayed, author of Wild

“At once an adventure story and personal diary of the internal struggles and ultimate triumph of a deeply thoughtful gay man.”The Advocate

Kirkus Reviews

2021-03-10
Ruminations on our need for purpose and a celebration of adventure.

Much as he did in his debut bestseller, To Shake the Sleeping Self, Jenkins sprinkles his joyful, meandering text with musings on the natural world: a lone violet in a meadow; rafting through the Grand Canyon; intense feelings of gratitude for Earth’s grandeur and the interconnectedness found throughout nature. His most authoritative chapter is on the ego, where we live “the majority of our lives” and which he keenly defines as “the container in which you build an identity and then defend it.” The author goes on to describe his quirky personality and explains how his ego protected him from pain: “As a kid, I highlighted my weirdness and uniqueness to remove myself from competition.” He writes affectionately about his good friends, encouraging readers to appreciate and cultivate those relationships, and his open worldview shines in the countless aphoristic passages and introspective reflections scattered throughout the text: “If you could see the strings pulling at people, you’d be as patient as a pillow with everyone you meet”; “Tears are the swelling of something inside me, until that something gets too big for my body to hold. It makes room by pushing the tears out.” It’s clear that Jenkins wants readers to join him on his journey of self-discovery, which requires consistent questioning: “Who do you feel the most yourself with?”; “Who do you hang with that makes you feel the fullness of one of yourselves?” The bromides may lay too thick on the ground for some readers, but the author seems genuine in his desire to inspire people to consider the true motives behind the desires—and to direct their actions based on those considerations. Ultimately, he advises that we “try things with gusto” and understand “we are ignorant actors in a cosmic drama.”

An awakening for fellow travelers on the spiritual path.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940177139012
Publisher: Penguin Random House
Publication date: 02/02/2021
Edition description: Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Ego

When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.—John Muir

My friend Lauren cofounded a nonprofit called Kind Campaign. She travels to schools around the country and speaks with young girls about bullying, unhealthy friendship, and identity. She looks younger than she is, she is stylish, and she is beautiful. This piques the girls’ attention, that she is some strange creature who is adult and cool, yet young and definitely not a teacher. At these talks, Lauren shares her story of being bullied in seventh grade and how it spiraled her into a severe depression and suicidal state. She teaches the girls that sometimes it’s hard to see outside their school hallways. How, even though it feels like school is their entire world, it’s important to realize it’s just one chapter of their story. That there’s beauty, friendship, adventure, and so much life lying ahead of them. And to know that when they are struggling with things that feel big and scary, they can reach out for help. That no one has to suffer alone.

She once told me a story of a high schooler who was kicked out of her friend group and forced to get something like one hundred likes on each Instagram post and some ghastly number of new followers each day before she could sit with the other girls at lunch. This girl was so distraught, she told Lauren that she spent all her free time after school making fake accounts so that she could like her own posts and follow herself. “I have to do it,” she said. “I’m miserable, but I have no choice.”

Lauren hears endless stories like this—stories of brokenness, of girls confused and lost and trapped and scared.

Recently, a twelve-year-old came up to Lauren after the assembly. The girl was tiny, holding her hands down in front of her, making herself as small as possible as she gathered the strength to speak. “Can I ask you a question?” she mumbled.

Lauren leaned down. “I’m sorry—what, my darling?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Lauren said, now squatting to make herself smaller than the girl.

“Is it okay if I don’t know who I am?”

Lauren gave her a look of understanding. Her heart broke at the baldness of the girl’s honesty. She gave herself a second to think of an answer.

“It’s perfectly fine to feel like you don’t know yourself,” she said finally. “One of the most beautiful parts of life is getting to know yourself over time, and that can change during different chapters of your life, too. I am still getting to know myself.”

“You are?” the young girl said.

“Yes, I am. I know a lot about myself at this age. I like myself. But there is so much more to know. You are on a wonderful journey. You’re exactly where you should be.”

“Okay. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

The girl gave Lauren a half smile and stiffly hugged her. “Okay, thank you,” she said, matter-of-factly.

What if I don’t know “who” I am? There are layers in that girl’s question. So much of life is lived in magnetic attraction to undefined concepts. Love. Meaning. Fulfillment. We all want to be somebody. But what is a somebody?

When I look back at my nervous journal entries, old photos, and confessions from high school and college, I see a through line. Every time I’ve been in a state of flux, of change, I fear that I will be trapped there. “Will this confusion last forever?” I wonder. But it never does, and I haven’t grown weary yet in this business of uncovering, unmasking, and construction of who I am. It is both discovery and intention. And it is endless. And it’s okay.

Yes, I’m sure.

“Who” you are is the braided marriage of circumstance, ego, and soul, in that order. First you have circumstance, the “what” of your life. Where you were born. Your sex and gender. Your parents and your hair and your skin and bones. The ego knits this all together into a whole, a concept. It is what most of us would consider “who” we are. The container in which you build an identity and then defend it. The ego acts as your agent, manager, and lawyer, all while believing it is the thing itself. Its worst fear is to be belittled or unnoticed. It takes everything personally.

Your body walks into a party where you don’t know anyone. You feel anxious. That “you” is your ego. But another part of you is watching you get anxious. Something separate, but still you, is observing your ego, some higher part of you that says, “Why do I feel like this? Everyone seems so nice.” This is your soul. We’ve all done something mad or wild and said, “Who am I right now?” This is the division between the ego and the soul. The ego’s desires are based on the body, on scarcity and fear and lust and hunger. The soul’s desires are based on . . . ​well, what does the soul want? Completion? Balance? Understanding? Acceptance? It’s hard to know.

How strange is it that we’re all walking around with this crowd in our head: our body; our ego, which is the mind of the body; and our soul, which is the watcher, the cosmic something else. Maybe it’s nothing but a side effect of consciousness. But I am writing this right now, and I am also watching myself write it. Some part of me is above it, eternal, and cannot be hurt by failure or disgrace. What a nice part of me to seek out and cultivate.

We are three things. The car, the driver, and the awareness of it all.

I remember kissing a boy and experiencing all three parts. The sensation of touch and his weight on me. Of hands flying everywhere. I remember my ego paying close attention to how I was coming across. “Is my kiss right? Too much tongue? Not enough maybe? Is my hand okay here? Or does it seem like I’m swimming? Oh god. Okay, now every time I do something with my tongue, he does the exact same thing. Is he copying me? Maybe he’s nervous, too?” And then the soul awareness coming from above. “Look at yourself. Aren’t you funny, flailing on someone else as they flail on you. This is adorable. You’re doing great, sweetie.”

...

I think most people live the majority of their lives in ego. Defined by what they’re doing, what they’re thinking, how they organize and categorize the world. I do what makes me comfortable, and avoid what makes me insecure. That pretty much sums up my life.

I don’t like team sports. I have tragic hand-eye coordination and end up costing my team games. They laugh and say, “We’re just out here having fun! Doesn’t matter!” but I watch their eyes flare up in those moments of competitive adrenaline. They want to win. They love the animal thrill of victory, and I’m holding them back. So I avoid them. I tell them I don’t like getting dirty or that I have work to do. Inside, it brings up the shame I felt when I was soft and slow as a child. My ego chimes in: “This will embarrass you. Instead of trying, tell your friends sports are dumb. Call them ‘trite’ and ‘meaningless.’ Focus on other sources of esteem.”

This is also why I don’t like going to clubs, the kind where single people go to look cute and dance. It’s very lookie-loo and sexy, and I don’t fit in. I’m not an Adonis, and I don’t have good hair. Some of my friends love going. Dancing, getting hit on by strangers—it’s a lighthearted thrill for them. They know I hate it, though, so they complain about it to make me feel included. “Ugh, another guy wouldn’t leave me alone. I was like, dude, I’m here with my friends.”

And I’ll play along. “People are so desperate. I’m like, chill, let us live!” Of course, no one is ever hitting on me. But if I act annoyed, too, I can gather scraps of superiority.

I do like parties, though. I am good at talking, and people like my jokes. I meet new people and they laugh loudly and ask where I’ve been hiding all these years. Some of my friends don’t like these parties. They feel clumsy and insecure when talking to new people. A party of strangers is exhausting for them. I’ll walk away from a cackling stranger and complain to my friend standing alone, “This random person thinks I’m going to save their number in my phone and hang out. That’s cute.” I say this to make my friend feel special. They laugh with me. “People are clueless,” they say.

I wonder how much of who we are comes down to doing what we know we’re good at, and avoiding what makes us feel small. How far can we peel back the onion before our personalities are just equations and chemical reactions? Perhaps if we really knew what made us feel small, we would see that it had no business running our life.

Interviewer: “What do you dislike most about your appearance?”

Zadie Smith: “I like it all. Self-hatred is for younger, prettier women.”

—Vanity Fair

From the B&N Reads Blog

Customer Reviews