Books
From the time I could hold them in my hands — well before I could sound out the letters or understand the concept of words — I have loved books.
As a young child, I was enamored of the library.
As a pre-teen, I discovered the joy of saving money for, and then buying, my own books.
When I was in college, I was appalled at the cost of books — even used books! — but always strove to purchase all the recommended texts – even if they weren’t required – for my courses and hated to part with them (so I often didn’t… which meant that every time I moved from place to place, I had to haul along hundreds of pounds of pulp) at the end of each semester.
Nowadays, my house is filled with books.
And book stores — particularly the indie variety, and especially the ones that sell both new and used titles on their shelves — are my Happy Place.
Escaping Reality
For a long time now, because book stores are my Happy Place, I have utilized them as one might do a pharmacy. When something is ailing me — be it that I need a tonic to relieve the stresses I’m experiencing from overwork, am seeking a quick-boost mental exercise for a change of pace, or just want to cure myself of general malaise — book stores are where I go to find my medicine.
While books transport me by means of imagination to new and wondrous lands, book stores — or rather, the act of physically travelling to a book store and then journeying aisle by aisle through the always-explore-able jungle of bindings that sit, row by row, on floor-to-ceiling shelves — take me away from my worries. The act of browsing… Of feeling the weight and texture of bound volumes one by one while perusing their inner offerings… Of lifting books off the shelf, of reading the author bios… The choosing, the paring down of choices, the selecting and then purchasing…
It’s therapeutic.
And not being able to ‘go to therapy’ (so to speak) due to COVID-19 restrictions for a large part of 2020 was one of the most difficult parts of adjusting to the uncontrollable out-of-(my)-control challenges of last year.
So when my favorite book stores re-opened (or were allowed to conditionally re-open, with limitations) (don’t get me started), I was quick – though cautious – to return to the safety of their shelves.
And when, at the end of October —
after a four-day migraine that sent me seeking emergent medical attention for the first time in six years
— this camel had run out of room for any more straws to pile up on her back…
[I had to deal with a colossal fuck-up with one of my contracts that seriously screwed me over (through no fault of my own; it was on them, and I got it remediated — key word *I* ~ I sometimes feel as though my entire life has been nothing but a series of fixing other people’s mistakes — but Jesus FUCK, can I just get a goddamned BREAK?!) on my pay.]
I ran for cover.
Or rather, I ran for cover{s}.
For the sheltering cover of a book store and the promised-adventure covers of books.
I have come to the realization in recent months that there are a lot of things I never previously realized I took for granted. Things it never previously occurred to me would ever be difficult, things I never in a million years believed I’d be restricted from doing.
I know that for many people, those realizations (and subsequent chafing at the ‘new normal’ realities around those realizations) entail things like going to the grocery store whenever it suits one’s schedule -and- dining in restaurants. And yes, those things are applicable to me too (though I’ve had a lot of practice accommodating other people’s needs over the years so having to schedule or wait or just NOT do those things grates – for me – a little less).
But really…
When it comes to what is deemed “essential” (and as an essential worker myself, I do not say this lightly)…
The idea that book stores are somehow NOT essential is absolutely absurd to me.
Because for my own mental health — and I’m sure there are others who feel the same — it is absolutely imperative that when life gets dangerous, I run for cover{s}.
And once my books are firmly in hand and my eyes are on the page:
Kindly leave me alone. I’m reading right meow. 😉
Bookstores are definitely essential! And I completely understand the feelings that you get when you are in one. I’m the same way.
It’s like a Zen moment, packaged between for walls.
I loved the feeling of being totally immersed in a good, well-written novel, impatient to get home from school or work to get back inside it, and feeling sad and a bit disoriented when the book ended.
Oh, totally! I remember – from the time I was in elementary school – being super impatient about homework because I just wanted to get back to reading my book! The Little House series was huge for me that way, and I was a Nancy Drew fanatic. 🙂
I hear ya.
My Kindle app got me through but reading on my iPad really just is NOT the same.
Jz recently posted…The Response From Vulcan
It’s NOT!
There is just something sensorily appealing about holding a book open and physically turning the pages.
I especially love the texture of old books. I have a leather-bound set of Shakespeare’s collected works with a mid-1800s publication date that I love to just… hold. (Is this a kink? *laugh* If so, it’s mine!)
Just yesterday I read a news article where book store owners are calling for our government to label bookstores as essential. In Belgium and Germany, our neighbouring countries, they are open, just not over here. And I agree, books are therapeutic. Reading this reminded me of how much I read as a child, teenager and young adult, and how I should start reading again!
~ Marie
Book stores — independent, non-corporate ones — are suffering right now. I always try to buy indie because I don’t want to lose them.
I love books and have forever. I work to keep my library from growing—basically I give away most of the books I buy!
A funny story. Robert Mapplethorpe was a very controversial photographer as you likely know. I had never seen his work so sometime around 1990 he was in the news a lot. I was curious and went to my local Chapters (large book store) to see if I could find his work. As I walked towards the photography section, a couple of older ladies were in my wake. I beat them to the section and started looking for any of his books. I saw one on the bottom and knelt down to look at it. I had just pulled it out when the two women caught up to me. Kneeling there, I opened the book. A massive black erection in high definition was showing… I heard a gasp. I quickly turned the page and the next image was worse! The ladies made a sound and then moved away from me… I was mortified. I stayed in that Chapters until I was certain the women must have gone home. But it was a lovely book and if I had had the courage, I would have purchased it. I actually went looking to make such a purchase a few years ago, but despite repeated looks, nothing by him is stocked anymore.
Funny!
I think erotic art books are fascinating to peruse but they tend to be priced sky-high. It’s a wonder book stores bother to stock them; I’m sure they sit on shelves for a loooong time before they get purchased!
This one was expensive certainly. And I would have been unable to make the purchase then… however now I am less shy!
Books are essential to living so surely book stores should be essential in covid – I really feel that during these strange times mental health is not seen as a priority and this worries me greatly – for too many reason…
Loving your T-shirt
May x
May More recently posted…I can’t help acting on Impulse
Mental health — at least where I live — is mentioned only as an afterthought. Likewise, there is almost zero acknowledgment that with all the “Stay home!” mandates that – for many people, especially for vulnerable people – ‘home’ is not a safe place to be.
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