I love them. I love them best in hard copy, hard cover, freshly minted and never opened. I love them second best in the same form but old and dusty and well worn from many openings and closings. I love them in digital form, but this is a last resort. So strange I write completely digitally but read almost exclusively in hard copy. I am always a contrarian. I don’t even have to try...I just am. A walking, talking conundrum.
I tried to raise children that read but I failed. I am not sure how or why, I just did. They do not enjoy it and only do it when threatened with death. I guess I should have made their childhoods a little less stimulating...I know that I read out of self defense growing up as an only child of parents who would go on vacation and then spend great amounts of time reading. I never resented them for it, I just joined them...I mean what else was there for me to do in a cabin in the woods when it poured rain?
I am leaving for Australia in less than a week and I am downloading all kinds of books on my kindle app. I am breaking my hard copy only rule and opting for digital since that will make traveling so much easier and lighter. I know there is no way I am going to read all the shit I have virtually packed, but I feel better having them all ready to go nevertheless.
What am I taking?
A book of poetry - Mary Oliver. I read one of her poems every day.
A new novel - Not sure which one yet but going to try to find an Australian author...
A new audible - these are almost always non-fiction and educational...I am thinking Let Them by Mel Robbins or on Writers and Writing by Margaret Atwood.
And I am sure, if I know me, and I do, I will buy several hard copies along my travels. That is something else I like to do, buy a book, consume it and then leave it somewhere I am staying for the next weary traveler to enjoy...a little literary service on the road.
Books to me are a genre of friends. They are a source of solace and comfort, a source of inspiration and devotion, they are foundational and grounding. I need them just as much as I need my actual friends. I need new ideas and sources of drive and zeal. I need my mind opened or altered in the way only a good piece of literature can. I love the whole endeavor of reading. It is a source of life and joy for me.
Whenever I meet a new guy, and he says he doesn’t read books, it is all I can do to contain my disappointment. I can’t date a non-reader...our world views just do not align, like at all. And while I could better get along with a conservative person, a non-reader isn’t going to understand all the time I spend with my nose in a book. And that seems like an ominous start to a love story.
Speaking of which, I don’t generally read love stories. They depress me. Maybe if I had a good one of my own, it would be easier to read about other people’s love stories. But I don’t, so I can’t. I know, pretty petty of me. But reading about someone else falling in love and living happily ever after just grounds salt into my ongoing heart wound. Hard to admit that but it is true.
On the other hand, a twisted, sordid love affair is always a good read, mostly because it is relatable. Mostly because I can find myself all over the pages instead of the constant inventory that comes with a love story where I just keep falling short repeatedly. I know, I know, I see my work to be done as well!
I didn’t have siblings growing up, but I did have books and it was within those pages and pages of book after book I read that I found laughter, comfort, friendship, peace and joy. So while I will be adventuring solo, I will not be alone. I will have my usual plethora of books to keep me company and in good stead.
And if I have ever sent you a book, please see that as the highest form of honor I can give you. That is like me giving you the winning lottery ticket or my pin for my ATM card. Except, the book far more valuable than anything else I can endeavor to give...
I am also going to be working on my own book while I am away. Attempting to get into final form and ready to publish when I get back. I have been stalled out far too long. So hard to get it going, so much fear and anxiety about putting it out into the world. I mean I do this every day but this book, this book is deeply personal and revealing and I would be lying if I didn’t admit I have so much fear surrounding its revelation.
Another reason I love books is that every one I read, is testament to the courage and fear overcome by the author to release this novel thing from the confines of their mind. I truly know how hard it is to write, then edit and then edit some more for years, until all the editing becomes a source of stalling that have a perfectly good justification, “just a few more tweaks...” Which in my case has gone on for the past five years.
Reading is something I like to do anywhere, at any time. I will do it solo, I will do it entangled with another in bed on a rainy Sunday. I do it covered in cats with a cup of coffee, lazy in front of a fire. Reading is the antithesis to my always busy mind and body. Reading is the thing that stills me, calms me and allow body, mind and spirit to be quieted and quelled.
So while my trip down under is going to be chocked full of grand adventure, I know that at least some of my time shall be spent nose in a book, reading my life away one page at a time and loving every single minute of it. Honestly, what else is there to really do every night as you lay solo in a bed in yet another lovely Airbnb? Relax, unwind and find comfort in the words of another...it isn’t really pillow talk but it is the closest thing I have got!
Again...still.
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