27 Down, 25 To Go
This year I started a book project. The idea is to read fifty-two books in fifty-two weeks. I keep track of the books I read and put up small reviews on a website sometimes known as a blog. In the time since people have found the site and started commenting, I have received many lovely emails from strangers. They have commented on their own reading, given recommendations, and even gone so far as becoming friends. However, not many people have asked why. Why did I create this project for myself?
The answer isn’t simple and at this point (the half way mark) it’s still an answer that leads to vulnerability. I’ve always been honest when I answer, but I haven’t said everything. To put it briefly, a very meaningful relationship in my life had ended. It came to a close as I struggled to determine what in the world I was doing in New York. I can say that for many months afterward I felt a kind of aching I had never known and a hurt that continued to grow. I was fine during the day at work or at school, but when I got on the train to go home to Brooklyn, the tears would come. Once I was alone with my thoughts and had background music playing in my ears, there was nothing I could do to stop from creating a flood. Eventually, the realization came that one can only cry openly on public transportation for so long.
So I read. I read because it flew me into worlds other than my own. It allowed me to connect with people of different times and places. It let me open myself up to pages filled with words that I knew were somewhere inside me that I just couldn’t find. Books have been a part of my life since I was young and I’d venture to say that while the load dropped a little in college, I have read consistently for as long as I can remember. However, I have never read this much at this pace.
Looking back, I needed this project more than I could have guessed. It has given me something to do for myself, a goal that will only be achieved if I allow it. The books are made all the more special this year and I can already look back at my shelf and remember what was happening in my life simply by seeing a title. I’ve regained a trust, a hope that I thought might have been lost. I can feel myself moving on now and although I sometimes think my heart is wrapped up in a blanket traveling somewhere on the subway, I know that it will at least be accompanied by a book.
5 months ago
