This morning I was feeling a bit twitchy. Not anxious
really, but just unsettled and unfulfilled. These uncomfortable feelings stem
from a multitude of things: bucketloads of stress, uncertainty at work, not
enough sleep or exercise, a 2 year old who has turned into the stereotypical 2-year
old overnight, among other, less obvious reasons. I have noticed that when I
feel twitchy, I turn to electronics: tv, computer, phone… to avoid my twitchiness.
I should have recognized it this weekend and nipped it, but failed to see the
cause of my need for distractedness. By this morning (Tuesday) my twitchiness
had escalated enough that it was hard to distinguish it from anxiety. When my
lunch hour approached, I did not even know what to do with myself. Every option
of a 1 hour, lunch-time activity scrolled through my brain in all caps and
exclamation marks. I needed to withdraw. As I walked to my car, I was scrolling
through my phone… “Distraction, distraction, nothing is distracting enough... Social
Media, save me from myself!”
It suddenly occurred to me what I needed to do. I stuffed my
phone in my purse and raced to the bookstore. For a solid hour, I walked the
aisles of books upon books. Just being near them and smelling the paper and
glue scent calmed me. I felt connected to something when I hadn’t felt
connected to much in days. The twitchiness and anxiety drifted away as I read
paperback covers, ran my fingers over the etching of hard cover best sellers.
My eye caught one author after another – books I have read and books I have
kept on my mental list of “Must reads.” I picked out 4 books to buy.
I treasure books. I love them. I adore them and when I see
people writing in books, tearing out pages, or trashing them in any way my
heart breaks. Even if Ruby scribbles in her Elmo book with a blue crayon, my
heart breaks. She now knows to respect books like I do. Books contain
knowledge, thoughts, ideas, opinions, photos, artwork… They contain many of the
beautiful things in life in a small stack of paper. I think of the author
working, working, working on what is on those pages. The hours and time and
dedication… the planning, thoughts, research… All for $12.95, now YOU TOO can access
the secrets of the world.
For years and years, I was a very avid reader. I remember
having to hide the light from my lamp as a kid because I would be awake reading
until the wee hours of the morning and if Mom saw the light, she would get so
mad at me! But, I couldn’t stop. I’d sneak a flashlight in my room, if I had
to, just to read a few more pages. When I was older and in the throes of my
depression reading was a life raft. When I couldn’t bear the reality of my
world and pain, I could sink into a book and forget for a few hours and drift
off in someone else’s thoughts or world. After I found out I was pregnant,
except for “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” or “The Complete Single
Mother,” I didn’t have the brain capacity to read a book and follow for more
than a few pages. Sadly, I still don’t. I try to read now – but I can only
manage 4 or 5 pages before I either become too tired or too distracted to
continue. It is not the issue of finding a good book; it is the issue of
finding the concentration and energy to read. But today, when walking the
aisles of the bookstore the desire to read about something other than Winnie
the Pooh hit me so hard I was daydreaming about grabbing a half dozen books and
going home and reading the afternoon away on a blanket in the lawn. Even being
near the books gave me comfort. They felt familiar and safe – in ways that I
have not felt in a very long time.
I look at the rows and rows of books and I feel like there
are people out there who get me. They must get me, to love books so well, to
love words and beautiful phrases as much as me. I looked at the philosophy
section and it was one narrow shelf, only partially filled… and the poetry
section was smaller yet. Then I looked at the rows and rows of romance and mystery
shelves and they were half the length of the store. Then I figured that maybe
there aren’t that many people who understand me after all.
I left the store with 4 books. Three of the books were on my
“must read” list and 1 book was a spontaneous book of poetry. I am going to
make a more concentrated effort to put aside my phone and pick up a book.
Electronics drain me. Books fill me. How could I have forgotten this about
myself? In addition to reading, I need to write more. It makes me feel aware
and connected in ways that I don’t feel doing anything else. I think what it
all boils down to is filling my energy sources with things that I love – things
that fulfill me. I have lost or forgotten this side of me when I have been so
busy being a mother; an employee; a responsible, contributing member of
society. I pour my energy into everyone else and when I am drained, grumpy, and
lifeless, I look down to realize that my cup is empty. I haven’t done anything
for myself to fill it back up.
