On reading books at the “right time”.

As I sit here with a mild sinus headache, my mind keeps flitting back to the book I just finished. We’ve all been there. You pick up a book, and it just hits home so hard that it won’t leave you alone. You think about it even when you aren’t reading it and then, when it’s over, it keeps replaying in your mind. Those kinds of stories are the ones I live for.

Last night I finished Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. It absolutely blew me away. All I could think about was how expertly this book pried into my mind, and woke me up. There’s this beautiful portion of the story where a girl being interview talks about “sleepwalking” through life. About being so involved in being what people expect of you, that you forget what you wanted for yourself. I read that part, and then I read it again. It’s still with me.

More than that, the entire story line just kept reminding me about how much we take for granted. The Internet, our social media driven lives, just the ability to drive a car from one place to another. It’s intense.

I’m not here to preach, just to say that I’ve learned lately that sometimes you just pick up a book at the “right time”. Conversely, sometimes I’ll pick up a book at the wrong time. A good example of this is when I tried to read It by Stephen King last year. I was in a bad place at the time, and the book wasn’t what I needed. When I picked it up again this year, I was instantly drawn in. It spoke to me. It ate at me. I loved it.

I think sometimes ravenous bookworms like ourselves forget that it isn’t always the book that’s an issue when we can’t connect. Sometimes we’re just not at the right place in our life for that book. I’m learning that more and more the older I get.

Are there any books that you’ve tried to read again, and actually connected with the second time?