clevergirl

I own very few books. I used to have hundreds of volumes organized by subject and author. I started purging when I realized that I cared less about the books than the picture they painted of me. “See, I’m smart and interesting — Look at all this evidence.” They were tools of persuasion, convincing others (and through others, myself) that I matter, that I’m worth knowing. Like sweet, buttery frosting on flavorless cake, a layer of books compensated for half-imagined inadequacies.

That’s a lousy reason to have Things. So I got rid of them.

Purging was an exercise in self-knowledge: If I need books as proof that I’m worthy, then I must not be. If I want to know what’s really there, I need to scrape off the goo.

The remaining hundred or so books are either Inspiring (Sugimoto monograph), Spiritually Enriching (Quaker Reader), Helpful (Mayo Clinic on Depression), or Pulp (Hiaasen). They’re books that I return to either frequently or significantly.

My home now feels more honest and more interesting to ME than it was.

People like Kate & Bryan are more genuine in their Hoarding of books (pun intended). They turn to their vast and diverse collection frequently and significantly. That’s different than my vast, diverse collection, which served not to enrich me but to cover for a threadbare ego.