Books

I’ve always found comfort in books. Growing up, it was common that we would go for a family trip to Borders after dinner. Everyone in the family would have a book or two at the end of the night to bring home. And my parent’s house was filled with books (even before these Borders trips became a regular occurrence!). When a disagreement about a certain fact would arise over a dinner conversation, my dad would insist on the answer, and then my mom would get up and go find the book that actually proved it. (And yes, Dad was usually right, or had an explanation as to why he was still right, even if the book disagreed with him.)

I carried this love of books with me into adulthood. I have always been so sure that the answer I needed would always be in a book. For instance, my first job out of college was as a regional field organizer for a grassroots organization. I had no idea what I as doing, and found two books about grassroots organizing—one that described the history of organizing, and another that outlined the nuts and bolts of how to organize—and felt instantly better and comforted. Those books—with the highlights and sticky notes in them—sat on my desk throughout that job, even though I never actually needed to reference them.

My books (yes, organized by color) behind out-of-focus-puppy George.

When I’m feeling lost, anxious, confused, or uncertain, I head to a bookstore. Each time I go, I am secretly hoping that this time, this time, I’m going to find the book. The book that makes it all make sense. The book that helps me cook and meal prep easier. The book that explains why my relationships fail and why the next one won’t. The book that tells me how to fold a fitted sheet. The book that tells me what to do with my life.

And I have have found great books. Books that profoundly changed and shaped who I am and what direction I was heading. I remember reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love in law school and telling my then-boyfriend (eventually to be husband, and then to be ex-husband) that I didn’t want it to be true that a relationship had to end for a woman to find herself. Audrey Niffenegger probably ruined all men for me because no man can measure up to her Henry in The Time Traveler’s Wife. Reading adrienne maree brown’s Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds was my only beacon of hope in the weeks following George Floyd’s murder. All of Brené Brown’s books have floored me, pissed me off, and changed how I show up in the world. And I still re-visit Glennon Doyle’s Untamed that I (and thousands of other women) read if the first few weeks of the pandemic.

I kept my “in progress” books on the coffee table. (So many!)

Even the other day, not even a week into this grand adventure of mine, I was spiraling into my anxiety, unsure of what to do, what the fuck I was doing in a van without a house, and I knew I needed a bookstore. Betty’s Books in Baker City, Oregon, was just the ticket. And I walked out with three books, instantly feeling grounded and better with them in my hand.

But it was just a quick fix. I am an addict after all, always wanting the easy way out, to stop feeling the uncomfortable feelings. The anxiety I was feeling that day is still with me. A frankly, it should be. I am one week and one day into this new adventure of mine. Everything is new. Everything is different. This anxiety ball in my chest and gut is my ego trying to protect me. To keep me safe. My ego hates uncertainty, hates new things. And I have thrown us full-blown into ALL THE NEW THINGS!!! ALL AT ONCE!!!

Not working? That is new. No house? That’s new. Living on the road, a new place every couple days? That’s new. Taking Zuki, my older dog, on some of these hikes? That’s new. Going to every trail head in the van? That’s new. Being single, without a hint of a relationship or a lover on the horizon? That’s new. No house? That’s new. No structure to my day? That’s new.

You get the picture.

There is no book for this. In Untamed, Glennon writes, “Every life is an unprecedented experiment. This life is mine alone. So I have stopped asking people for directions to places they’ve never been. There is no map. We are all pioneers.”

So there is no book. There is no right or wrong way to do this life of mine, this adventure of mine. Don’t worry, I’m sure I will keep supporting the local book purveyors as I travel on. There is always more to learn and glean, and there is just something about the warmth and smell of a bookstore. But I will stop looking for the answer. It’s time to take some action. To live into it. To feel all the feelings, the good and the uncomfortable ones.