Reviewed by Ambrea
When I first picked up Navel Gazing, I realized
I recognized the author’s name. He was relatively famous, I knew that; I’d
seen him on a screen somewhere, even if I couldn’t remember exactly where.
However, I’d never recognized him as a writer. It surprised me, and
I couldn’t help wondering if this wasn’t just another memoir by a celebrity
with a ghost writer.
Except Michael Ian Black isn’t just another celebrity writing a book about his career; rather, he’s a man writing about the trials of everyday life with a terminally ill parent.
He discusses his family and his life as he grapples with his mother’s deteriorating health; he discusses his health and what he’s not doing to improve it; he discusses his beliefs, his religion and how it impacts him as his mother struggles with one medical diagnosis after another. It’s a candid account on life in general and full of humorous musings on health, happiness, and faith.
I loved reading Black’s memoir for the simple fact that I could relate to him. When he talks about his health and his worries regarding growing older, yet he doesn’t want to schedule another appointment with the doctor, I understood his fear of disease and his subsequent reluctance to do anything about it. I mean, it sounds exactly like something I would do; in fact, it sounds like something I’ve done.
Likewise, when Black discussed his floundering attempts to become healthy and, for instance, decided to take up jogging as a healthier alternative to binge watching Netflix, I understood and connected with his experiences. I understood his struggles with weight and physical exercise (it’s exhausting), and I recognized his desperate desire to discover something deeper, more important in his running routine.
Except Michael Ian Black isn’t just another celebrity writing a book about his career; rather, he’s a man writing about the trials of everyday life with a terminally ill parent.
He discusses his family and his life as he grapples with his mother’s deteriorating health; he discusses his health and what he’s not doing to improve it; he discusses his beliefs, his religion and how it impacts him as his mother struggles with one medical diagnosis after another. It’s a candid account on life in general and full of humorous musings on health, happiness, and faith.
I loved reading Black’s memoir for the simple fact that I could relate to him. When he talks about his health and his worries regarding growing older, yet he doesn’t want to schedule another appointment with the doctor, I understood his fear of disease and his subsequent reluctance to do anything about it. I mean, it sounds exactly like something I would do; in fact, it sounds like something I’ve done.
Likewise, when Black discussed his floundering attempts to become healthy and, for instance, decided to take up jogging as a healthier alternative to binge watching Netflix, I understood and connected with his experiences. I understood his struggles with weight and physical exercise (it’s exhausting), and I recognized his desperate desire to discover something deeper, more important in his running routine.
“The toughest thing about training for the half marathon was the time
commitment: hours per week, hours that could have been more fruitfully
spent not running. Why did I persist, week after week, through the summer
heat and into the chilly days of autumn? What was my fascination with
running? [...] What did I want? The truth is, I knew what I
wanted from running, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to admit it: I
wanted enlightenment. And this is where are all my convoluted feelings
about my body and Mom’s declining health and aging and my own fear of death and
praytheism congeal into a goopy sludge. This is the nexus. It is a
stupid nexus, to be sure, but I could not quite shake the idea that running
could save me.”
I laughed at his self-deprecating humor, of course, but I enjoyed his candor and I connected on a personal level with his experiences. I know what it’s like to struggle with weight and health concerns (doesn’t everyone?), and I know what it’s like to hope that you can find something—anything—in physical activity. You hope to find enlightenment, contentment, peace—you know, something you can’t quite name—and it’s always a little disappointing if you don’t.
Overall, I loved the reading Navel Gazing. It’s fun and humorous, like it’s intended to be, but it’s also insightful and relatable. It connects on a deeply human level, exploring our individual foibles and disappointments, our worries and fears and insecurities. Personally, I came away from Navel Gazing with a familiar, ‘intense...almost electrical connection” to another human being.
It’s a feeling that I’m sure any reader will appreciate after finishing Black’s memoir.
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