There are, relatively, about a kajillion books out there. Each of these lovelies are constructed in different ways. Some tell new stories, some revisit old ones, but all of them are tales I either have or have not absorbed. In short, I get weird about rereading. I love to re-read. There’s nothing quite like revisiting a story you love. It feels warm, comforting, and familiar. It’s like a warm bath or a hug from someone you know really cares about you. Books you’ve loved feel a lot like home.
However, whenever I am indulging in a little re-reading (I’m looking at you Harry Potter), I always start to worry a bit about all those kajillion of books. In my short 24 (nearly 25) years on this planet, I know I’ve only put a tiny, baby fist sized−dent in the thousands upon thousands of reading options out there. When I linger on something I’ve already read I get this little pang of guilt. A voice says, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN HERE! MOVE ON!”
But I’ve started to become annoyed with that voice. I love reading as many new stories as I can. I learn so much from new authors and their styles. They have much to offer and it is my ambition to absorb as much literature in my lifetime as is humanly possible, but I also don’t want to feel bad when I revisit stories that have been important to me. Studying those tales is just as rich and vital. So that is my goal this year: I am going to restructure my reading life a little and just read whatever I want, whenever I want, including but not limited to books I have read in the past. Saying that out loud sounds silly. Of course, you should be able to do that. You are a grown ass adult Jordan. But sometimes one needs a little reminding.
Here’s to 2016 and stories of all kinds: past, present, and future!
Until next time.