Read To Change

As I wandered through book soap images this morning, looking for something to share, I thought about my love of books.

I grieve every book I’ve given away that hasn’t come back, every book that I donated thinking I was done with it or that was simply lost to circumstances.

At the least, I have read every day before bed, unless ill. On the other hand, entire days were spent lost in one book or researching a subject, as a child and adult. This is the thread of my life. The Fates are a curious bunch.

I remembered a time when I was seventeen and rented my first house.

One night, as I lay listening to the squirrels scurry in the walls and watched snow blow through the walls, I read. I had the idea to write, like the author. I wanted to do that! I didn’t have paper, but I did have a little pink corduroy journal. The binding was stiff and hard to keep open and my hand was cold outside the covers. The words I wrote sounded false. I forgot what my writing voice was… Or who I was inside. I was pretending, even to myself. My circumstances were hard to touch with words.

I was angry I’d been consumed with work and it took me away from what I loved.  I made myself document what was happening. My life seemed out of my hands. All I could do was go to work my ridiculous job: wash dishes, serve food, throw away food, make food; wait on others, wait for the bus, walk to the bus stop, carry my dirty clothes to the bus stop, wait on my laundry… Repeat.

How could I escape?

Eventually, I wrote words… Of days where I’d have a different life. I could hardly imagine it… I forced myself to write words of a better life than what I had. I conjured images of warm days filled with flowers… Something. Anything. I couldn’t see how to get from there to another place.

I worked for $3.15 an hour. I couldn’t ask for a raise. My outside self didn’t have it in me, I was fearful of losing what little I had. I received one ten cent raise in three and half years, and I was grateful.

Too much reading might lead to writing, which might lead to something else. And something else could change everything.