I’m an English major, so it doesn’t come as a shock that I read books on a daily and hourly basis. And although I remember each book I’ve ever read, for the most part, I don’t think about them for days on end or refer to all of them in daily conversation.
But then there are some books, ones that bring me out of my lowest moments or encourage me or bring me to tears. These books mean the whole world to me because they are the reason I do what I do.
When I was younger, my mother would joke that I all but ate every book I brought home from the library; I was so excited to learn more and read more. Contained in each paperback and hardcover was just a little more fairy dust, a smidge more imagination. And all the while I swore I could physically feel my creative universe expanding and my brain getting bigger and bigger.
My journey truly started with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when I was six years old. I had been reading for quite a bit before I got my hands on the first book. But, when I did, everything changed for the better.
No matter what someone said to me in school, or how lonely I felt sometimes playing on my own, I could always check my house for a book I hadn’t explored yet. Or go to the library and find yet another series of “big kid books” I hadn’t yet sunk my teeth into. My heart rushed and my courage grew with every challenge my literary heroes faced and conquered.
I found myself even re-reading parts of the novels where the hero stood up to the villain or said something wickedly funny to make everyone laugh. And then I imagined I could do the same.
I’m now 21 years old, and I still go back to my childhood bookshelf to pull out my old security blankets. The only difference is now I have the full Harry Potter collection in hardcover, and I’ve expanded to what I can only call “bigger kids books.” The Outsiders sits beside every work by Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm. Most people can’t have a straight conversation with me without at least one reference to one book I’ve read in the last week.
My relationship with books came to the forefront of my mind this last week after ending my first quarter of my last year as an undergraduate college student. The first quarter in which I all but forced myself to read other books along with my academic works, including and especially the Y.A. novels of my school days.
I especially struggled with my exams and my essays, as I was writing intensely about a certain novel I was terribly unpassionate about but was required to include. When I needed my breaks, I’d pick up The Chamber of Secrets or The Half-Blood Prince. I’d read just one paragraph, just one character description and quickly remember why I’m doing what I’m doing.
Books have changed my entire day, my entire mindset, and have even given me the courage to keep doing what I love. They will never stop meaning the world to me, and beyond. Until that day comes, catch me with a fork and knife gobbling up every last word in my local library.
