Comment: Read this.

I’ve always taken solace in books. Nowhere is that more evident than my bedside, one of my favorite places for agonizing and worry. Piled high around my nightstand and below it are books about learning optimism, letting go, tuning in, kicking back, choosing the positive, to name but a few.

I have a parenting library full of books to (supposedly) make me a better parent. I have a shelf full of writing books to (allegedly) make me a better writer. And I have spiritual and self-help books in both my bedroom and the living room, where all of the other books in my house live, to (purportedly) live a more meaningful life. (Look who's got a thesaurus!)

When I have a problem, I buy a book. Amazon loves me. I’m such a frequent customer they send me presents. (Okay, not really, but they should.) (There’s that whole free shipping for $25 and over which gets me EVERY time because how can you say no to free shipping, and the answer is, as humans, we can’t, according to a book I didn’t buy on Amazon, called “Predictably Irrational,” which avid readers know I am currently reading.)

I honestly believe somewhere in my brain/heart continuum that a book can solve my problems. I don’t hit the bottle, or the bong, I hit the books. And they usually don’t fail me. They always help, at least a little, if only for the reason that they remind me that I am not unique in having a problem about said job/child/spouse/life issue, and that others have trod before me and have some insight about my vexing situation.

That’s what I’m always looking for: insight. If something is baffling me, I look for a book to explain what’s going on, in concrete terms, or at least more concrete than the jumbled morass of wiring that is my brain. Words on a page are concrete, even if they’re about intangibles.

Should I be discouraged that I own many books that I have not read? Or should I be excited that I have so much knowledge yet to explore?

In one of the books I was recently reading about de-cluttering, the author talks about how some people view owning books as owning the knowledge in the books, and are thus loath to give any of them up. I had never thought about it like that, but I agree with that sentiment.

My books are my knowledge, and I fear that without them I am nothing.

My family and I are in the midst of big changes, and what do I feel like doing? Finding a book about it to calm me down and make me feel less alone. I’m sure there are lots being written right now about our particular situation. These days it’s the norm to be in transition/limbo, and not know what’s coming or how to feel or react to any of it.

Actually that’s the human condition, isn’t it? Maybe I don’t need to go out and buy another book about this particular life stress; maybe I already have one.