Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Read More Books

Summer. My goodness it has gone by fast. When I was younger, my favorite season was always summer. It could never last long enough. I believe the sole reason I loved summer was because it was a break from school. The worst week in summer was always the last, when every day was just ticking away quickly. When instead of enjoying the last minutes of freedom, I was locked away in my room trying desperately to make it through the summer reading list. I probably cried my way through several incredible classics just because I detested what reading them meant. One of those books was A Farewell to Arms by the hedgehog's namesake, Ernest Hemingway. Books like Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger and Angela's Ashes by Frank Mccourt all sat on my bedside table for months as I ignored them. I ignored them until the last dreadful moment. 

Mornings when the air is brisk always take me back to waiting for the bus on the first day of school with my heart in my stomach. And then, I remember...I don't have to go back to school! I've already survived those years of my life. And in retrospect, they really weren't so bad.

The end of summer is no longer the close of my favorite season, it is the predecessor to my actual favorite season. I love autumn. Autumn is the season for good books, pumpkin spice lattes, scarfs and my birthday. 

But autumn used to be a season of dread. 

I hate that feeling of dread. That miserable feeling that I relate to reading these incredible books. I never knew when I was younger how much I love to read. How much I love to fall into a story head first! I don't really wish I could relive high school. But I do wish I could go back and tell my younger self to not feel so much dread. I wish I could tell myself to drink in those brisk mornings, because they were not going to destroy me. I wish I could tell myself to pick up those books earlier so that reading them was about more than necessity but also joy of literature. 

I cannot get enough of reading. Now the only dread I fear is the last chapter of a really good book. 

Summer might be in its final weeks, but that doesn't mean the end of something good. It just means the beginning of something great. 

For those who read this and are still like my younger self:
Read more books.
Stop dreading tomorrow. 
And, enjoy the ride. 







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