Old Favorites

I’ve been cocooning myself in some comfort reading lately and I’m trying very hard not to feel bad about it. My book club has been reading some heavy stuff – a gruesome crime novel, then Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez, and then finally a nonfiction about the immune system, which is good, if a bit gross.

On my own end, I’m neck deep in a new book that is coming together, but it’s all bits and pieces right now and self-doubt and wondering if I can ever make it come out the way I want it to. And the manuscript from last year is being edited, which means that someday soon, I’m going to get a document telling me all the things I did wrong and if you’re wondering if that day is worse than unmedicated childbirth, let me tell you, yes, it is.

So in my free time, I’m reading old books that make me smile and feel cozy and require absolutely no deep thought or discussion whatsoever. It’s all L.M. Montgomery and Terry Pratchett and Nora Roberts with fluffy blankets and a cat on my lap.

There’s a part of me that feels like I should be reading more complicated things. Or at least new things. There’s so much great literature out there and I haven’t read most of it. I know the gist of course. Wuthering Heights is about a codependent relationship with a narcissist. Pride and Prejudice is about navigating class and gender in an overly dogmatic society. Ulysses is about…just kidding, even if I had been able to finish it, I wouldn’t know what Ulysses was about.

Of course, by not having read them, I’m not getting the fullness of any of the stories, of the poetry and character building and settings. But my brain is tired and I don’t yearn for more things to think about. I have read books that shake me to my core and, as edifying as that process is, it’s not fun.

There’s a part of me that needs to cocoon during the winter. I want all of my people to be in one place, happy and safe and fed, and then I want to get really, really warm and not talk to anyone at all. I’m sure it’s evolutionary or something, but it’s not easy to justify in a world that tells us we must always be improving, moving forward, being productive.

I think it stems from the idea that we must be all things to all people at all times. I can’t just be a mother and a friend and a writer and a contributing member of society. I must also be well read and well thought and have educated opinions on everything from cryptocurrency to foreign policy. Nah. I’m giving it up. I’ll keep learning and trying, of course, that’s deep inside me, but not at every moment. Some moments are for greeting old books like old friends, reconnecting with familiar stories, and reminding ourselves that it’s ok to take it easy sometimes.