Peanut Butter Fingers

Books are one of the true joys of my life. They are an escape, a comfort, a sense of home, a source of connection. They’re everything.

Every once in a while I’ll be in the middle of reading a book and a passage will stop me in my tracks. I’ll read and re-read the words I see on the page over and over again. I’ll ruminate over the author’s words as I feel something inside of me clicking into place because yes, yes, yes, they somehow managed to put into words EXACTLY how I feel. Through their words, they captured the feelings that felt too messy to sift through on my own. They managed to wrangle the swirling tornado of emotions I’ve been carrying with me and it feels like the author somehow gave them space to breathe. It’s as if my jumbled up emotions have been splayed out in the middle of the novel I’m reading just for me. Somehow this author gets it… gets me… gets the human experience. When this happens, it’s a gift. A connection. I feel understood and less alone and, well, human.

I remember this happening when I read Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid. She perfectly captured the beauty and the heartbreak of motherhood in a way I had never been able to fully articulate:

She put into words something I felt in my heart since becoming a mother that I could never quite pin down. She GOT IT. As mothers, we love every version of our children so deeply and want access to all versions of our kids at all times. We love our 8-year-old as fiercely as we loved them as a two-year-old but knowing the two-year-old version of our child is gone forever is enough to rip our hearts out. Knowing the 8-year-old version of the child in front of us is temporary breaks our hearts. But we move forward loving them so intensely, knowing we’ll love the future versions of our children just as deeply.

Another stop-me-in-my-tracks reading moment happened to me again on Sunday night as I was reading The Night We Met by Abby Jimenez.

Isn’t this the truth???

As we live, life throws experiences at us that fundamentally change who we are, how we feel and how we think. Sometimes I look at my boys and they remind me what it was like to walk around without the heaviness we start to accumulate as we get older. Innocence is such a gift. And not realizing you even have it? Another gift.

But age also gives us more gifts – deep, meaningful connection. Intense, consuming love. Deeper empathy and gratitude and appreciation for the little things we come to realize are the truly big things. And, also, we experience heaviness and grief in ways that can feel consuming and unrelenting. It’s all part of the human experience, and sometimes it’s magical and sometimes it feels like it can swallow us whole.

Thank goodness for books. Thank goodness for authors who make me feel understood. And thank goodness for the messy, beautiful, heartbreaking journey we’re all on together.