Approaching 50 can do strange things to us.
We may erupt into an affair or splurge our life savings on a sports car. Me? I elected to stroll from my cottage into a nearby English forest at dusk for 101 days. My plan was to sit and listen, my back against a hazel tree.
I am a mythologist, a rather endangered species these days. I specialize in exploring the many layers of a myth or folktale, particularly those that are Irish and Arthurian. The tales of Beowulf, Baba Yaga, and Dionysus are rich with insight about the conditions of living and the kinds of monsters and blessings we may encounter along the way. But the problem with being an expert on anything is that you can become addicted to theory rather than direct encounter. It can get a little abstract in the lofty climbs of academia. After 25 years of touring, publishing books, and teaching at some of the great universities, I was bushed. I needed tangible contact with something that wasn’t a lecture hall or publishing deadline.
