reading is a passion and a pleasure for me. i’m drawn to it; i always have been. i cannot imagine a world without words, without exposure to new ideas and new thoughts, both profound and mundane.
i have read many a good book and shared few. it’s not that i guard them jealously, it’s simply that in my circle of friends and family, i’m somewhat of an anomaly. my friends are not readers. even my parents, who enjoy good books and recommend their reads to me regularly, are not as voracious as i.
as a child, as far as i was concerned, time spent not reading was time wasted. i’ve mellowed some and come up for air more often, but i still embrace books with great passion. one a day is not an unusual number for me. my reads come from fiction and non-fiction, prose and poetry, and range from the seriously literary to sheer escapism.
i read an excerpt from a book by Richard Bode this past spring and it thrilled me so much that nothing would do but to have a copy of the things in its entirety delivered by amazon post haste. called “beachcombing at miramar” it is the author’s exploration of the meaning of life, and how he found his truth.
towards the end of the book i came across this passage, and it was so utterly perfect that i felt compelled to share:
“The events of my life are like the rolling of the waves, the changing of the tide, the shifting of the wind – they contain no judgment. My parents’ death was not a tragedy, my marriage not a mistake, my career not a miscalculation. They were the course of my days, the pattern of my years, the flow of the life that was given to me, and the way I lived it.”
this is a more balanced approach to looking at one’s life than the one i unthinkingly employ, which is to look back with shame and judgment and self-criticism. i’m going to post this where i can see it and re-read it, as an affirmation of sorts, a reminder that i’m on a journey and there’s no right way to get where i’m going because the destination is simply to learn to be me.