The Energy Bus by Jon Gordon is both an easy read and a hard read. It is easy because of the simple writing, the one-theme simplicity, and (let’s be honest, at this age) the large font format. It is a hard read because of the complexity of its seemingly simple message. The message, in short, gives me pause. “101 Rules to Fuel Your Life, Work, and Team with Positive Energy” the front cover reads. A simple photo of the front of a bus adorns the cover. As a working, single mother of two, I look at this image, on its sunflower orange background, and think, “That looks like it is going to tip over… it is bouncing high enough off of the ground to have a shadow – that’s just not safe.” The New Yorker in me cannot unsee it. 

Why do our minds jump to these cynical knee-jerk responses, even if a bit pragmatic, when confronted with a message like that held in The Energy Bus? We often hear, “We live in such cynical times!” Well, maybe that is some of it. But Ray Bradbury talked about cynicism. George Carlin did. Aldous Huxley. Maya Angelou. Lily Tomlin. Noam Chomsky. Oscar Wilde. Sigmund Freud. Niccolo Machiavelli. John Updike. Milan Kundera. George Orwell. Flannery O’Connor. Cynicism does not belong to this century alone. 

Even within the pages of The Energy Bus, we are not alone in our cynicism. When looking for the information on the particular font on the verso (the page on the back of the title page of any book), I found this disclaimer: 

“Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and author have sed their best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose… The advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a professional where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.”

If the positive messages within The Energy Bus need to come with a disclaimer housed within the first few pages, perhaps we should not feel so bad about being skeptical about the applicability of its message in our everyday lives. Because, to be sure, almost every person I have spoken to about this book about sort of whispers their displeasure with it. We feel bad about feeling bad about it – the mark of most great cynics. 

But, let’s not let ourselves off the hook so easily. As George Carlin said, “Inside every cynical person there is a disappointed idealist.” What have we been disappointed by? Family. Friends. Ourselves. Career paths. First loves. The fact that there will always be traffic on the LIE. That no one knows how to merge, despite all the signs. The times your best, most passionate efforts fell flat when reflected back to you by a loved one. The second season of a new favorite show. Season 4 of Lost. The Pinterest cake pop fail coming out of the oven right now. The fragility of IKEA furniture after the first time you move it. The discomfort of Spanx. The blank stares from students during the lesson you so carefully planned for weeks. 

There’s a lot to be cynical about. 

It simply, I think, is not as easy (or ideal) as this book suggests. One might argue that George’s own disappointments and pending failures are a result of his laziness. There is this assumption that George’s problem was that he was waiting for the world to motivate him – that he just wasn’t interested until his approach and attitude was about to lose him his wife, his job, his self-worth. And I don’t think that is how many people come to what Sarah Vowell once described as “low-key dread.” I think many of us come to it more enthusiastically than George slumped into it. 

First, it occurred to me about half way into the book that I did not care what happened to George. I think, at this moment, I am over the focus of white males in mid-life crises having epiphany storylines at the moment. It is too simple a dichotomy of pre- and post-epiphany. The introduction of the bus driver in the story, Joy, is the turning point moment for George. And it is quite a sharp turn. Within the first 6 pages, we hear Joy’s description of the people she means to shape with her message. In this telling, they are “Lifeless. No kick in their step.” Surely, with the existence of Mondays and long weeks and sleepless nights, we have all felt like that at some point. I was still a willing participant at that point. But then the description went on, “Like a light had been turned off inside them. She could tell the people who shone brightly and those who had a subtle dim. She called them Dimmers. They walked around like zombies just trying to get through the day.” And then, “No purpose, no spirit. No energy.” 

With this, I was done by page six. I not only did not care about George, I did not care about the flat portrayal of people. 

And personally, I was slightly offended. I should add some context to this – I have been told my whole life to smile more (and not just by creepy old men in the ‘80s and ‘90s), people who always assumed I was unhappy. The reality was far from that. 

My response to Joy’s description also came from my career in education. I have spent my entire career working as a sort of behind-the-scenes person, working out logistics and making connections for people, supporting their paths. Logistically, to do so with intense positive energy is antithetical to the whole purpose of support. I did (and do) so with ideals like diversity, openness, and creativity, in a holistic manner. I do not think that forcing someone to be energized by an idea, especially if it is their own idea, is good pedagogy. In our role as educators, I wonder if too much enthusiasm for anything is counter-productive to true, holistic, individual growth in our students. It is like putting a plant in a sunny window. It still can only ever grow towards the window pane in the direction. It is still a plant limited to its container. 

But, if I think about where my initial reactions to The Energy Bus come from and what they mean, I wonder if the sort of, “Not my thing” response is really about the comfortability of cynicism. Putting aside the particular George storyline, what is the book really suggesting that we are so uncomfortable with? If we wipe away the painted-life-mantras-on-overpriced-home-décor-at-Home-Goods-esque nature of it, what do we come up with? 

Because it isn’t about the bus. 

That is what I thought of today as I drove home and got stuck behind a bus whose driver obviously was not sure where to go on a winding backstreet country road. Being behind drivers who do not know where they are going is one of the most frustrating things about driving. Like I did when I saw the cover of The Energy Bus, I thought about how unsafe going that slow on a busy road was.

I love the idea of this book. A look into how our choices change the next chapter of our stories. About how much agency we do and do not have in our own lives. About how we build our identities by way of the choices we made about our lives. About how we might have chosen differently, if we thought differently or knew differently or felt differently... or just did. 

The book lost me though at the list of experiences toward the end. It felt like the depth of experiences he was exploring earlier in the book were made shallow in list form. 

I have heard from many people how much they loved this book and the story it tells. It just wasn't my thing. 

At first this seemed like a story about the processing of moving away from grief and the trauma of a neighborhood left guessing at the loss of a teenager 20 years ago (missing? murdered? ran away?). But it quickly turns into more a mystery with unraveling (and often too convenient) secrets everywhere. I listened to this one on audiobook and it took me a while to care at all about the narrator's story. In the end, I had a lot of issues with the all too easy wrapping up of this story. But if you like mysteries with family drama, small towns, coming-of-age retellings, and the like -- this will keep you entertained... and probably a little annoyed at the "heroine."

Tags: Mystery, family drama, small towns

Whew. Does A.S. King know how to capture angst in the teenage years or what...? This is a tale of a teenage girl trying to make sense of herself and her world. It includes a bit of surrealism, family drama, art, friendship, sibling connection, and a sort of coming to terms with one's own family history. 

Tags: coming-of-age, angst

Synopsis:” Sixteen-year-old Aza never intended to pursue the mystery of fugitive billionaire Russell Pickett, but there’s a hundred-thousand-dollar reward at stake and her Best and Most Fearless Friend, Daisy, is eager to investigate. So together, they navigate the short distance and broad divides that separate them from Russell Pickett’s son, Davis.”

“Aza is trying. She is trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, a good student, and maybe even a good detective, while also living within the ever-tightening spiral of her own thoughts.”

johngreenbooks.com/turtles-all-the-way-down-book

This book captures so much – that ‘sort of lost feeling’ of teenage years, the struggle to be a good friend to someone struggling with a mental health issue, the search for self while trying to ‘do the right thing’ – it is all in there, with a bit of mystery and suspense and sadness.

This is a collection of stories about teens celebrating Eid. The stories span the diversity of experiences of something that non-Muslims often assume is experienced as one thing to the entire Muslim population across the world. What we see in these stories are unique, personal, and even often familiar experiences. The preparation of the holiday dinner table. The cousins and family members. The smells in the kitchen. The laughter. The responsibility. The joys and heart of celebrating holidays with and without loved ones. 

I highly recommend this to everyone.