Words from a wallflower

Although I refused to read on my own until I was in the first grade, I still had books lining the shelves on my dresser. The Critter books were replaced with Cam Jensen and Junie B. Jones chapter books, and those were replaced with John Green novels and recommendations from others who have better taste than me. These different genres have been moved from my childhood bedroom to different houses, and now part of my collection is displayed in my dorm room.

Books have always been really important to me. I was protective of my books even as a little girl, ensuring not to crinkle the pages or break the binding, and I could tell you the memories I have associated with each book I’ve read.

Going to the bookstore brings me a sense of comfort that transports me to my childhood and home. I usually buy at least one book every single time I go. I have a bad habit of not reading books right away, so some have been sitting on my bookshelves for years with their pages remaining unopened by me. In the words of Looking for Alaska, “I call it my Life’s Library.”

So, with that habit of mine, this past Sunday, I went to Tattered Cover on 16th Street. It was cloudy and chilly outside, but the warm lighting and creaky hardwood floor inside made for the perfect afternoon getaway for me. Of course I bought a book, and it hasn’t even made its way out of the bag yet onto a shelf. Naturally, I ordered more books when I got home because Tattered Cover didn’t have the one I went out to get in the first place.

Books have gotten me through the summers in Vegas when I was being a hermit in my house and some nights where I couldn’t fall asleep. I think people have those things that they randomly collect that bring them joy, and I proudly display mine (even if they aren’t the classics or award-winning novels).

My world expanded when I finally became less stubborn at the age of six and read on my own, and now I can’t imagine not having my collection of books.