novice Buddhist, expert neurotic. writer. aspiring adult.
sophcw at gmail dot com
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I read most of Unorthodox in the last few hours. It felt good. It’s a feeling I remember well from my days as a book-obsessed pre-teen hermit. Knowing I was just going to keep reading until the end, no matter how late it was or how early I had school in the morning. I remember one winter I went to the library and checked out a book for every day of my break, and proceeded to read one every night from start to finish. And let’s not even get started about staying up till 4 am to read Harry Potter when I was only 9, and finishing the 700 page 4th book in a day and a half. I can so effectively lose myself in a world when I’m reading something compelling, and I’m sad that I haven’t taken as much advantage of that in recent years. I forget doing something that requires solitude can actually be rewarding. Books were how I survived my early teenage years when I felt angry and alone, maybe they can do the same for me now.