It’s funny the way things get under your skin. And not in the way that you think, where you feel irritated by it or mad; more in a way that you feel energized in such a way that you can’t stop thinking about it. Do you ever find yourself in a place, surrounded by an energy that just motivates you to do something? Maybe the Olympics does it for you, motivating you in the start of the year to keep focused on that new goal you've made or maintain commitment to that new exercise routine you've started. I find that I have that feeling of inspiration or motivation at seemingly random but frequent intervals. I’m not sure if it’s because I am constantly searching for something to do with myself or if it’s because I am trying to allow myself to be open to things. Either way, I find myself being inspired by things all the time, but often struggle with maintaining the energy of that motivation for longer than a couple of hours. Story of my life.
This morning I stopped by a used book store near my house in
search of a specific title. In putting
together a gift for my girls turning 30 this year, I have been on the hunt for
a book I read about a while ago called 30 Things Ever Woman Should Have or Know
By the Time She’s 30. Apparently we
shouldn’t have learned anything about brevity – which is good, because I struggle
with that concept. At any rate, I had
never been to this book store before and was reveling in the moment of quiet, child free book perusal once I
walked in. Savannah was at daycare and
it was the first time I let myself wander into such a place in a really
long time.
I immediately felt the warmth of the words, sentences and ideas filling the room. I looked around and was in awe of how beautiful the books looked on display and how comfortable it felt in there. I easily could have lost the entire day in that store. Anyway, somewhere between The Best American Short Stories of 2007 and The Purpose Driven Life I realized that there was not a single copy of the book I was looking for. Disappointing, yes, but what I really felt as I read through the titles along the shelved walls was nostalgia and happiness. A renewed sense of something I love and have loved all my life. I came across titles I hadn’t seen in forever – works of literature that had, at one point or another, made me laugh or cry or reconsider a previously held understanding of something I thought I knew. I found myself, just for a moment, wishing that I was back in college with my copy of Bastard Out of Carolina, under a tree on the quad with nothing but a Nalgene full of water, a snack and the time to read a book. No pressures, except the expectation that I would finish the book and have something meaningful to say about it by the time class rolled around. Oh the beauty of hindsight – realizing now what a beautiful thing it was to spend a day like that. What I wouldn’t give to have reading a book and writing a paper be some of my only responsibilities for the day. Isn’t it true that we so often take for granted the gifts we have in the present? I’m currently trying to get better at that, but it doesn’t stop me from lingering over thoughts of what fun I’ve had in the past. (And, yes, I recognize that the fun of which I speak in this instance includes the activities of reading and writing. Nerd alert!)
I immediately felt the warmth of the words, sentences and ideas filling the room. I looked around and was in awe of how beautiful the books looked on display and how comfortable it felt in there. I easily could have lost the entire day in that store. Anyway, somewhere between The Best American Short Stories of 2007 and The Purpose Driven Life I realized that there was not a single copy of the book I was looking for. Disappointing, yes, but what I really felt as I read through the titles along the shelved walls was nostalgia and happiness. A renewed sense of something I love and have loved all my life. I came across titles I hadn’t seen in forever – works of literature that had, at one point or another, made me laugh or cry or reconsider a previously held understanding of something I thought I knew. I found myself, just for a moment, wishing that I was back in college with my copy of Bastard Out of Carolina, under a tree on the quad with nothing but a Nalgene full of water, a snack and the time to read a book. No pressures, except the expectation that I would finish the book and have something meaningful to say about it by the time class rolled around. Oh the beauty of hindsight – realizing now what a beautiful thing it was to spend a day like that. What I wouldn’t give to have reading a book and writing a paper be some of my only responsibilities for the day. Isn’t it true that we so often take for granted the gifts we have in the present? I’m currently trying to get better at that, but it doesn’t stop me from lingering over thoughts of what fun I’ve had in the past. (And, yes, I recognize that the fun of which I speak in this instance includes the activities of reading and writing. Nerd alert!)
As I stood in the aisle, surrounded by books wearing the
signs of their use, I kept thinking about all of the books I have read in the past and all
the ones I still have to read collecting dust on my shelf at home. I couldn’t bring myself to walk out with any
more, cringing at the thought of those I already have at home, which I purchased in
many other stores like this one and still haven’t once cracked the covers. In that realization I had two thoughts:
1) I really need to find a way to work reading back into my daily life, and
2) I should be well on my way to writing something substantial by now.
Both of these thoughts made me sad for a moment. Sad that it is so hard for me to organize and motivate myself to do things sometimes, like read and write, and sad that, although I have all of these thoughts in my head I can’t make thematic sense of them to put together a complete piece of work. Once those thoughts were through my head, though, I continued to look at the books on the shelf before me. Some of them may sit here for the next 2 years without even a glance and others that will get purchased like my own at home and never be read. Who’s to say that if I wrote a book it wouldn’t end up as some random worn paperback on the back corner shelf of a thrift book shop? That's not a defeatist attitude, by the way, just an honest notion. Not exactly a motivational thought, but still one I have as my eyes graze over titles like Oral Sadism and the Vegetarian Personality and Worst. Person. Ever. that have probably only been sold to a handful of people who turned it right over to the thrift dealer.
1) I really need to find a way to work reading back into my daily life, and
2) I should be well on my way to writing something substantial by now.
Both of these thoughts made me sad for a moment. Sad that it is so hard for me to organize and motivate myself to do things sometimes, like read and write, and sad that, although I have all of these thoughts in my head I can’t make thematic sense of them to put together a complete piece of work. Once those thoughts were through my head, though, I continued to look at the books on the shelf before me. Some of them may sit here for the next 2 years without even a glance and others that will get purchased like my own at home and never be read. Who’s to say that if I wrote a book it wouldn’t end up as some random worn paperback on the back corner shelf of a thrift book shop? That's not a defeatist attitude, by the way, just an honest notion. Not exactly a motivational thought, but still one I have as my eyes graze over titles like Oral Sadism and the Vegetarian Personality and Worst. Person. Ever. that have probably only been sold to a handful of people who turned it right over to the thrift dealer.
I snapped myself out of it.
What kind of outlook is that anyway?
If I am going to write something and try to get it published, I have to
realize that, in the end, I am really doing it for me. Then, I have to be comfortable with the idea
that maybe only a handful of people, outside of those who will buy it out of
support for me, will read it. If I'm honest, to have something I have written bound and in print will be, in and of itself, a true victory - I'll worry about distribution once that's a legitimate concern of mine. I guess I
have to remind myself that writing, like teaching, goes like this: if you can
reach at least one person in a positive way and effect some change for or in
them, you have done your job. With that
realization I turned on my heel, let my fingers graze the books as I walked
past them, and took myself out the door and back to the house. I will write a book one day, when I am ready
and have something useful to say about something I know a thing or two
about. Until then, I will just keep
practicing. In the end, I didn’t find
the book that I wanted in that thrift shop.
Regardless, I think I still may have found some of what I didn’t realize
I was also looking for.
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