When I was a kid, I read all the time.
Unless I was drawing.
But mostly I read.
In college I stopped reading so much because there just wasn’t time.
After college I started reading a little bit more, but never as much as when I was a child.
And then I had kids of my own.
I continued to read, but not for myself…for them.
During the great declutter of last month we placed all our books on the table.
We got rid of anything that we weren’t going to read again, were never going to read or that was readily available with our new library card.
And then there were these books:
These I pulled out as books I had acquired because…
well, because they “spoke” to me. They had content that I thought could help me become more of the me that I want to be.
They cover topics like art and fear and creativity
and life and peace and spirituality
and so much more.
And they have been sitting on the shelf…some for a long, long time.
Some I started and never finished.
Some have never been opened.
Now they are all in one place – by my chair in the living room where I often end up sitting and watching television because it’s easy.
I will see them when I go to sit down.
And I will no longer ignore them.
I am going to read them.