“I read to feel understood. I feel accepted and normal with a paperback in my hand. I become engaged in finding out who I am underlining line after line. I am home.” –Rhonda Britten (from blog post on April 13)
I came across this beautiful explanation of the value of reading yesterday in one of Rhonda Britten’s blog posts. I highly recommend the entire post, but the line above really caught my attention because I so clearly recognize myself in its words. “I read to feel understood.”
She goes on to talk about how easy it is to lose ourselves—our real selves—in this busy world with all of its pressures to live in accordance with the expectations of others rather than in alignment with our own true needs. For her, and for me, reading is way of reminding myself of who I am, what matters to me, what I truly care about, what I need. It allows me to explore those hidden nooks and crannies of myself that seldom get to see the light of day to decide where I need to cut away the overgrowth to allow those cherished parts of me get enough sunlight to grow into greater maturity.
It’s no wonder that my soul shrivels up when I don’t have time to spend reading on a regular basis. I look forward to my life settling down enough that reading can again become a part of my daily life … to remind me, to remember, who I am.