From the Bookshelf (T-Minus 242 Days)

I am sitting around waiting for the plumber who was supposed to be here a half-hour ago and figured this was as good of a time as any to write an update. It has, after all, been way too long. In my defense, there has been a fair amount of stuff going on, much of which I need to wait until it settles down in order to make sense of it.

In the meantime, I have tried to conquer smaller tasks to make this potentially impending big one a little easier to deal with, starting with cleaning out my bookshelf last weekend. This may not sound like a big deal to some, especially when I gave up buying books for the year in favor of the local library, but trust me, it was an accomplishment. In my guest room, there stands a six-shelf behemoth storage system filled with books, sometimes in double rows and sometimes stacked in front or on top of existing rows.

I love books. I love reading. I love biographies, sociological studies and reading stories about people who have their lives together or who have lives messier than mine. There is a shelf of chick lit, another of romances hidden behind a row of classic literature and still more on photography, religion, sports and random subjects in between. By the end of it, I took five large fabric bags to the used bookstore and received a whopping $46 for what were probably over 100 books.

I’m trying not to dwell on that. For in the process, I realized a lot about myself. Not only do I buy way too many books, some of which I never read, but this whole quarter/third-life crisis is nothing new or original. There are points to be taken from each book, though certainly some more than others, but truthfully I am embarrassed just how extensive the self-help section is of my personal mini Barnes & Noble.

I’ve been trying to make sense of all this crap for years and, based on the number of books written about it, so has everyone else. This both comforts and frustrates me … and also makes me think I need to be cashing in on the trend.

[Plumber just got here, by the way. About an hour late.]

Some of the books are pictured. Several others, most notably a smaller stack of religious discovery texts, are not. One of the esteemed BFFs called during this book purging process and when I relayed this prevalent genre to her, she was mildly shocked. And probably rightfully so.

As cliché as it sounds, I would probably fall under the “spiritual but not religious” category (or at least that’s what my online dating profile said). I had perfect attendance in Sunday School growing up and sang in the choir, but unless I’m visiting my parents at Christmas, I am not a church-going person. I have no problem with people who are and in fact respect them to know end, I just cannot get into it.

And that bothers me. In times of uncertainty, I occasionally wish I had something larger than everything to fall back on.

So I have explored different religions and have books on Taoism, Buddhism, Judaism, overall spirituality and rediscovering Christianity. The specifics are way too deep to get into here as I would much rather admit perpetual singledom publically than religious ineptitude, but suffice to say I have been an all-around work in progress for a long time.

And perhaps I’m meant to stay that way.