Autumn is my favorite season and, as such, gets me feeling rather nostalgic of a lot of things. There is something about the crisp air, crunchy leaves, and shadowed skies that make me feel safe and content. Autumn is the perfect time to curl up with a mug of tea and a good book and most of the time, that is exactly what I do. However, my relationship with reading has not always been a good one. I have struggled in the past with accepting the fact that I am a reader and I feel like a lot of other people might as well.

When I was younger, I couldn't get enough of stories. Since I was not able to read, I relied on my mother to either read to me or recite stories that she had stored in the mother section of her brain. She would read to me every night before I went to bed and when I was able to recite a story, at least fairly well, I would ask to read to her and I would tell the story my own way while flipping the pages of the book with a satisfied 'flick.'

This sparked something in me that only grew as I did. By the time I was in school, I was reading all the time. I had a little library in my room with all my favorite books and I was always given the advanced reading in school. The library in my elementary school was color coded with the easier books in the front and the more advanced books for the older kids in the back. I remember going there on library days and walking to the back, watching as the spines of the books got bigger and bigger. Every once in a while I would pick a book and open it up, looking at the words that i did not understand and memorizing the title so that when I was old enough I could check out the book and read it. That's exactly what I did.

It was incredibly satisfying to be able to check out the big kid books in my elementary school library, but I was still wanting more. So my mom would take me to Barnes and Noble and we would each get one book and a coffee (or rather a hot chocolate) and sit for a while to read the books we had gotten. Now, if the elementary school library excited me, I was overjoyed when walking into the bookstore. There were isles upon isles of books that towered over my head and entire floors of 'big kid books' that I couldn't wait to explore. I am happy to say that the bookstore still has that affect on me today, and when I go into one I still get the same feeling I got when I was a little girl.

My love for reading continued throughout elementary and middle school, but when I got to high school things started to change. I suddenly cared a lot about what other people thought of me and reading was considered uncool. Well, you can bet I dropped that book just as quickly as I squeezed into my first pair of Aeropostale skinny jeans.

I wanted to fit in and who doesn't? For two years I barely read and when I did, I did at home. I complained about the books we had to read in English class, although my grade was still exceptional, and began to watch the television shows that the kids in my class were watching so I could talk to them about it. While this superficial version of myself was seemingly happy, a large part of myself was missing. I constantly felt underwhelmed and never knew why. I didn't see that not reading was tearing me apart and for two years I, a bookworm, pretended like I was one of the cool kids.

My junior year, things turned around. We had all matured and I began to realize that I didn't care what people thought. So I traded in my high heels and mini skirts for leggings and a sweater and my cell phone for a book. It had been so long since I had read something for pleasure and I didn't know where to start. That's when I started to hear about contemporary poets Michael Faudet and Lang Laev. So, I went in to Barnes and Noble and found the poetry section and book by book began to devour it. After reading Laev and Faudet I moved onto Rupi Kaur and iwrotethisforyou. Then onto classic poets like Blake and Byron. Poetry was all I wanted. So I conducted some research and found other poets that I thought I would like. Then, I found the beatniks. Suddenly everything made sense. I understood the what they believed in and felt at home in their words. Soon Kerouac, Cassidy, Ferlinghetti, and Williams all became common names in the household, and Ginsberg became my world.After reading Howl my world was turned upside down. I realized then that I was who I was and what I was, was a reader.

That set my alarm off and before I knew it I was buying books left and right. Nabokov, Twain, Vonnegut, Wells, Plath- I couldn't stop. I realized that I loved the classics. I understood them and it was easy for me to delve into their world. I became smarter and my wit was sharpened. I wanted the world to know that I was reading again. I wouldn't shut up about how much I loved reading and once again, I was consumed by the world of words.

My relationship with literature now is not something I take for granted. When I started reading again, I felt like I needed to make up for the years I lost, but then I realized that wasn't necessary. Those years spent away from books only made me relapse harder and when I finally was reading again, it felt incredibly good.

I know now that I am a bookworm and I am glad of that. I have finally come to appreciate a part of me that I once tried so hard to hide but now flaunt. Reading has forced me to learn so much about myself and helped me grow and mature into the person I am. My room now overflows with books, and I feel at home when walking through the doors of Barnes and Noble.

I know I have so much more to read and learn, but that is a challenge I accept. I can not wait to see where my path leads, but I know that as long as I have a book in my hand, I will be happy.