Life's Surprises in Kerouac's On the Road

Okay, I’ll admit it: I prejudged the “Beat” Generation and all of its related literature before reading any of it, and before really knowing too much about it. This is kind of embarrassing to divulge, but I honestly associated them with the’60s hippie subculture; I didn’t really dislike any of it. It was more of an indifference, or the belief that “I know that ‘Beat’ writers and individuals greatly impacted the social, cultural, and literary scene of America during the mid 20th century, but I’m not really interested, so I’m just not going to go there. There are too many other works and movements that I would rather spend my time exploring.” I’ve even visited the Beat Museum in San Francisco with my family, and while I took it all in, I still wasn’t inspired enough to really explore it.


My hesitancy and disinterest was directly associated with some sort of image of the Beat players—Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsberg, etc.—that I had somehow formed in my mind. I saw them clad in all black, in tight black turtlenecks and shades, smoking cigarettes, and spouting off some incoherent poetry. Don’t ask me how this impression of Beats took shape in my mind, but for whatever reason, it did. Obviously, my notion of the Beat Generation was off, which became ever so clear to me when I recently picked up and read Kerouac’s 1957 work On the Road. Now, this is my first foray into Beat literature, so I am by no means any scholar, but I am happy to explain how wrong I was about the Beats, or at least about Jack Kerouac and his 1957 piece.

Like all works of meaningful literature, there are many components that make it important and relevant. In this post, I am just going to focus on one aspect of On the Road that not only touched me, but that also enlightened me about what it means to be “Beat.” Instead of the abstract, alternative text I was expecting, I was pleasantly surprised by the energetic hope and genuine pleasure Sal (the character Kerouac is based on) seeks and has for the experiences his country offers. Whether these experiences involve jazz performances, long, intellectual discussions with Dean (or Cassady), or relishing the beauty and simplicity of the land, Kerouac essentially embraces the genuine and pure moments of life in On the Road. Sal reminds me that all experiences, particularly new experiences, make life more meaningful. Like in life, moments of sadness and pain intermix with moments joy and happiness; there are definitely sad and painful undertones in On the Road, but ultimately, the text is so much more hopeful than I expected it to be. Its excitement in the simplicities of life makes me excited just to be alive, especially with all the freedom I am so lucky to have.

So, I ask you, readers: what text pleasantly surprised you, and why? Also, what about life excites you? Kerouac shared his feelings; what are yours?