Books, Books and More Books

So I think I'm falling into some bad habits: reading self-help books. I mean, I have shelves of them and how much more improved am I than before I read them all? Why do we need so much advice about how to live? Are we overthinking this life much? Should we constantly question everything will do or will that lead to madness? Have I asked enough of the RIGHT questions, and what are the answers to those questions? Have I irritated you yet with my constant questions?

The happiest and sanest people I know do not read self-help books. My husband is someone I consider very sane and rational, but he'd rather go get a perm than read a self-help book. My sister would rather watch The Wiggles than read a book on self-improvement, and she's mighty sane.

So who is reading all of these books? Neurotic people like me. We hope, with each book, that THIS will be THE ONE, the one that transforms our lives for the better. So we read, and we wait. But without action, we won't get anywhere. If we just sit around staring at our belly buttons not much is going to get done.

The one book I know of that really helped me and continues to inspire me is "This is How" by Augusten Burroughs. It's not one of his famous memoirs, but rather a very brutal, bare bones manual for life. It's fucking genius. So I recommend that to anyone, whether they feel the need to be "helped" or not. It's just good, no bullshit writing with spot on ideas about life.

My friend just loaned me "The Girls at the Kingfisher Club". I could use a break from all the non-fiction I regularly consume.

In the improv studio where I went last spring there is a chalkboard at the entrance and it says: "You are enough." Now that's good advice.