Cheryl Strayed
Cheryl Strayed
Cheryl Strayedis an American memoirist, novelist, and essayist. The author of four books, her award-winning writing has been published widely in national magazines and anthologies...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth17 September 1968
CitySpangler, PA
CountryUnited States of America
mother grieving suffering
I had to go on without my mother, even though I was suffering terribly, grieving her.
gay color literature
It's still true that literary works by women, gays, and writers of color are often framed as specific, rather than universal, small rather than big, personal or particular rather than socially significant.
men battle stories
Men's stories are seen as universal, women's as particular. What women are up against is the battle to not be marginalized.
thinking ridiculous made
I'd walk and think about my entire life. I'd find my strength again, far from everything that had made my life ridiculous.
motivation writing people
I hope when people ask what you're going to do with your English degree and/or creative writing degree you'll say: Continue my bookish examination of the contradictions and complexities of human motivation and desire; or maybe just: Carry it with me, as I do everything that matters. And then smile very serenely until they say, Oh.
acceptance rooms quiet
Acceptance is a small quiet room.
remember humans human-beings
I remember being absolutely rocked to my core by how profoundly I could love another human being.
way holes climbs
The only way out of a hole is to climb out.
sweaters hiking knitting
Going down (descending), I realized, was like taking hold of the loose strand of yard on a sweater you'd just spent hours knitting and pulling it until the entire sweater unraveled into a pile of string. Hiking the PCT was the maddening effort of knitting that sweater and unraveling it over and over again. As if everything gained was inevitably lost.
heart brave enough
Be brave enough to break your own heart.
home trying world
I was trying to find a new home in the world.
strong real growing
I felt something growing in me that was strong and real.
years seven-months bridges
The wanting was a wilderness and I had to find my own way out of the woods. It took me four years, seven months, and three days to do it. I didn't know where I was going until I got there.It was a place called the Bridge of the Gods.
earth way answers
I asked, often out loud: Who is tougher than me? The answer was always the same, and even when I knew absolutely there was no way on this earth that it was true, I said it anyway: No one.