In the show Gilmore Girls, when Rory said, “I just want to be sure that I see…something” when Headmaster Charleston asked her why she wanted to be a journalist, I really felt that.
For the last six months or so, my mind has been an anxious mess bouncing between two thoughts: I’m gonna be 22 and have decades of youthful experiences in front of me and I’m turning 22 and I can’t believe I still haven’t done this and I still don’t have that.
Why did turning 22 hold a special meaning for me?
This happens, right? We come across a quotation by Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Anaïs Nin, or any legendary figure in fact, and we read it and think—that’s it—that’s the truth. What they said hits some part of us that finds relatability with that thought, and coupled with their literary prowess, we take their thought as a true fact about life. We internalize it.
After challenging myself to read 30 books in May, let’s say that I calmed down a bit.
I read 3 books in July and 2 in June and I’m not unhappy with that at all! I spent all of May prioritizing reading and that was great, but since then, I’ve been focusing on other things, reading only when I feel like it and am sucked into a book.