I wrote this essay for my newsletter subscribers in May's newsletter and wanted to share it with all of you in hopes that it would bring you joy.
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Books.
Just
seeing this five-letter, one syllable word brings a smile to my face.
My
life has never been the same since I wore out three copies of the Little Golden
Book, I Can Fly by the age of three. (Sorry Mom.) Even then, I recognized
books can take you on quests.
If
it’s true your cells regenerate every seven years, then over my lifetime of
reading I’ve changed many times over. I like to think that pieces of my
favorite books remain stitched into my DNA.
One
of my favorite lines from You’ve Got Mail Kathleen Kelly says, “When you
read a book as a child it becomes part of your identity in a way no other
reading in your whole life does.” I’ve always believed this is true.
In
middle school and high school, books became long- lost acquaintances. I found a
real home as a spunky red-headed orphan in Anne of Green Gables, watched
old maid Valancy Stirling become who she was meant to be in The Blue Castle,
crossed swords with The Three Musketeers, and quietly carried the moral
weight of To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s also where my love and slight
obsession of all things Jane Austen began. (Emma is still my favorite).
College
deepened my relationship with literature. My major (and I’m sure you can guess
what it was) required reading I might never have selected on my own. Some books
challenged me, intimidated me, and some stayed with me long after the semester
ended. The Faerie Queen, The Lady of Shalott, Middlemarch,
and The Souls of Black Folk all expended my understanding of what
literature could do. They taught me books are more than stories, but
conversations across generations.
Whenever
someone asks me for my favorite book, my mind immediately short circuits under pressure.
Choosing one feels impossible and disloyal because the books I love are tied to
different versions of myself.
Over
the years, I’ve changed as a reader. When I was younger, I read for adventure.
Today, I still see reading as an escape from reality, but I read a little
slower. I find myself relishing the beautiful cadence of words, insights, and
themes of a book. The excitement of opening a book knowing I may not be the
same person when I close the book remains the same.
Perhaps
that’s why I continue to love reading so deeply. Books do more than entertain
us. They accompany us. They leave fingerprints on our lives in ways we don’t
always recognize until years later.
Isn’t
it wonderful that pieces of all these stories will remain with me forever?
