There’s a particular feeling you get when you finish an excellent book. You know the one I mean. Anyone who loves reading–actually, anyone who has even read just one book that they connected with–knows this feeling. It’s like your mind is whirling, yet it’s at peace. You’re deliriously happy yet screaming despairingly because the book is over. You’re about to burst from emotion but can only stare at a wall trying to comprehend what’s happening to you.
Somehow, I lost that feeling over the last few years. I’m not sure how; looking back, I think I was just too preoccupied with life, with pursuing other feelings, with the go-go-go that success seems to require these days. I was taken over by trying to figure my life out. And that was okay. More than that, it was necessary.
Now, though, I find myself in an odd place. Two years ago, I thought the go-go-go would never end, that I was on a rise to the top and nothing was going to stop me. I was wrong. Lots of things have stopped me. And I now find myself at a standstill of sorts, in a melancholy, slow part of life in which I’m not quite sure if I’m happy but I do have more free time to read. And, of course, I have time to rediscover that feeling.
That feeling is what’s getting me through my days right now. Sort of a depressing thought, but it’s true. I have other things going for me, of course, but letting myself get lost in a good book for a few hours a day is what I most look forward to and what I can’t stop myself from doing. One of my unofficial resolutions for the year was to start reading more, and boy, have I accomplished that resolution and then some. I’ve read at least a little almost every day of the year so far, and I’ve rediscovered my love for books, which may or may not be my one true love and calling. (Still trying to figure all that out.)
Most recently, I finished the Mistborn trilogy by Brandon Sanderson. Each one of them gave me that feeling and then some. Shoot, I could keep reading this series for days (and well, *ahem*, that’s exactly what I seem to be doing, but that’s beside the point). Reading these books, I was transported to a new world, made some new friends, loved and lost and learned and triumphed. The experience was wonderful.
I consider myself really quite lucky that reading the Mistborn trilogy wasn’t the first time this year that I’ve gotten that feeling. I’ve been able to catch up on so many books I missed out on over the past few years, and I’ve made plans to continue reading even more. I have rediscovered this passion of mine, and I don’t see myself letting it go very easily ever again.
That’s what brings me here, I guess. I need a place where I can gush about books that make me feel that type of way, or critique books that didn’t quite hit the mark. And maybe more, who knows? I used to fancy myself a writer once upon a time, so maybe I’ll use this blog to tap back into that. Maybe I’ll be inspired to revisit old writing projects. Or maybe I’ll just share pictures of all my knitting and crochet projects like the little homebody I truly am.
Either way, I’m here and giving this thing a shot. I promise I’m friendly, so don’t hesitate to say hello should the desire arise. We’ll see where this thing takes us.