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By the Book, By the Cover

I tend to think about things... a lot. I would not call myself an "over thinker," as it is my opinion that I think precisely the correct amount for any given situation - but an objective observer might disagree. Part of the reason I do that is because I enjoy thinking, because I don't like the consequences of under thinking something, and also because I am conditioned to place a certain degree of moral value on Thinking Thoughtfully. By nature, I am also aware of my capacity to not think, and I try not to overindulge that aspect of myself.

But in the interest of seeking balance, I've done a few exercises in releasing control recently. The first was going in a local bookstore and announcing my intention to choose a book by its cover (this prompt was externally driven, and was not my original idea). I don't think I've ever seen booksellers so excited as those two ladies were. They promptly had a semi-whispered discussion on the ethics of deliberately facing some of their personal favorites so I might notice them, and we ultimately agreed that after I had made my choice, I would be delighted to see a few of theirs. I ended up leaving the shop with five books (one each of their suggestions, and three I couldn't decide between).  I justified my purchase by mentally agreeing to take them to a Little Free Library once finished, as I've noticed those generally get the dregs of people's personal collections. So far I've read three of them, and only one has been what I would consider a dud (not a bad book in itself, just not one that I connected with).

Thinking of over/under thinking, choosing books by their covers was actually a fun exercise, because I will read literally anything (except horror) and I'm happy to have an excuse to plow through a novel in a day. For some reason, I give off the impression of being quite erudite... in bookclub, no one was surprised at my retention of Zora Neal Hurston's interview with a man brought to the US on the last known slaver (Barracoon), but they were shocked at my enthusiasm over the next month's selection, a romantic comedy (The Unhoneymooners, by Christina Lauren). When you can read 150 pages an hour, no book is a waste of time, in my opinion. I do enough introspection and management that spending a Saturday afternoon with a light story doesn't feel like a waste of time.

But that takes us back to putting moral value on thinking. Who cares what I read? Who cares if I alternate a classic with a hard-hitting history with a piece of fluff? As long as I read in a way that does no harm to others (either through the ideas I'm absorbing or the tasks I may be neglecting), who cares? And why do I?

After spending all of last week unable to read or write, listening to Jeremy Irons read The Alchemist every night while I tried to get comfortable (I chose that one because I have it more or less memorized, so as I slipped in and out of wakefulness I always knew where I was in the story), I still don't have an answer. I don't feel like the time was wasted, necessarily... but I'm also not sure if it was productive (recognizing that productivity can be measured in both Things Done but also in Change Effected). Perhaps neutrality is a sort of balance in itself, although my thinking tendency wants there to be a concrete five part essay - complete with introduction, three supporting points, and a conclusion - for every incident. Maybe one will present itself later... or maybe not. In the mean time, I'll read another book.

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