When I was little, on the rare occasion I had to borrow a book from my sister, she always made a point to tell me not to crease the spine. You could clearly tell the difference between her books and mine. Not only did I crease my spines but I folded the edges of my pages and did whatever else I wanted with my books.
I’ve come to realize they are a representation of how I like to live my life. I am not one to keep things tidy and on the surface. I want to get my hands dirty. I want to experience it deeply. I can’t do that if I am worried about creasing the spine. Just like I can’t really have fun in the rain if I am worried about getting dirty. When we’re not running away from it, rain can be so much fun. Puddles, splashing, licking, dancing, letting the water wash over you. It’s exhilarating.
That’s why kids seem to enjoy it so much more than we do. They don’t worry about getting messy. They look at rain and see joy. We look at it and see mud.
Sometimes I am so worried about mess, dirt, imperfection that I miss out on so many opportunities. I miss out on experiencing joy and adventure and euphoria. I miss out on having fun with my kids. I miss out on having fun in general.
That’s the thing about life: it’s messy.
You can’t really experience it without creasing the spines. Without letting go every now and then. I am one of those people who’s constantly scared to let go. What if I stop doing so and so and it all falls apart? I don’t want to be scared to let go. I can start with occasionally and with small things. Take one unabashed step. Without abandon. Something small. Maybe it’s going out in the rain. Or getting in the car and driving nowhere. Or having ice cream for breakfast.
Small steps lead to big steps, so I have to take those first.
Small steps show me that I can get messy and let go and the world doesn’t fall apart. Everything doesn’t come undone. If the foundation is there and it’s solid, I can take risks. I can get messy. I can dive in. I can take chances.
I don’t seem to hesitate when it comes to my books. I love a well-worn book. It’s a sign that the book was read, loved, cherished, carried around, and deeply used. That’s what books are for.
And that’s what I want to do with my life: when I come to the end of it, I want to have it be well-worn.
Beautifully said. Thank you.
The thing about a well-worm, used, dog-eared book is this: its value is EXACTLY the same as its brand new counterparts. All the words are still in there. The story is still the same. People are the same way. Just because I have paint on my pants doesn’t mean I’m not worthy of friendship.
Well worn, often read, seriously enjoyed! That’s you!!!
And it is already in you, letting go. So go for it and build it up in other area’s of your life.
I’m catching up on a few back posts—this one could have been written about MY life! It’s now bookmarked so I can dip into it again 🙂