I’m a bit obsessed with buying books, always have been…
There is something about the power that a book holds. It holds the secrets of another world, which
might change your world… it holds someone else’s dreams and thoughts, which
might inspire your own… a book contains a means to escape from reality, or the
tools you need to improve and build on your own reality… a book can literally
shake the bones of you, until the fears or wishes within you fall away.. There
is something about an unknown story within a book that intrigues me, excites
me, scares me… mesmerises my mind… the process of simply finding a book that
catches my interest, purchasing it and owning it empowers me and is medicine
for my soul!
Reading, however, is something I struggle to commit to fully.
I have boxes of full of books, squirreled away under my bed, that I would never
dream of discarding of.. but, still, I have not even turned open the front
cover of some of them. My mind constantly races to seek out new knowledge,
fresh information, and some kind of soothing excitement to entertain me and
take me away. For me to commit to a book faithfully, to the end, it must
completely encapsulate my life or the next book will sparkle brightly in the
corner of my eye.. and off I am again wildly chasing it.