| | My best friend in 1989 bought me The Fountainhead and told me I had to read it because I was just like the main character. I put the book on a stack of other unread books and forgot what he said. Two years later, while looking at an even larger stack in the same place, I remembered what he said. I pulled out the middle book. One hundred pages into the book, I called him and said, "This is gonna have an unhappy ending, isn't it? There's no way this guy's gonna win. She (Rand) won't let him win!"
"Just read it," my friend said.
I did, and I no longer felt small in a big universe. I felt as big as the universe. I felt that MY life was important and MINE to make happy, no matter what anyone else said. I read all of Rand's works in huge gulps over the ensuing few months.
But The Fountainhead changed my life. My friend was wrong about me being like Roark. I wasn't anything like him. I was second-handed. I didn't pursue my values like he did. And Christianity still had its meathooks in me. I thought I was an individualist, and I acted like an individualist, but I was losing the battle for ideas in my own head. (I had just written a column for a local paper demanding that the city build more sidewalks.) I'd been trying to figure "it all out" since I was a kid but hadn't the morality, genius and tenacity of Rand. At first, I cussed myself for not having done what she did. Soon, I realized I was indebted to her for my life and happiness.
I went through my "newly converted" stage, as Jennifer did, where I argued with everyone and was altogether righteous. It took about 7 years for me to get right -- to learn it was for me to be happy, not make everyone else happy and rational. And to enjoy the subsequent emotions, as Robert Malcom mentioned.
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