As a kid, my mom and stepfather had this really small collection of books that I thought was so cool.
I remember spending hours reading about Pen and Teller’s magic tricks, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s bodybuilding methods, and the interpretation of dreams.
These would ignite my imagination and allow me to peer into a new world.
Now that I’m a grown-up, I wonder often what would life had been like if there more for me to explore.
So every time I add to my now nearly 400-book personal library, there’s a part of me deep down that thinks about a child coming and pulling it from the bookshelf to see what’s inside.
I imagine giving them exposure to all these things I’ve found to be marvelous.
There are so many books a child would adore: The Complete Works of Winnie the Pooh, Charlotte’s Web, Stuart Little, Matilda, Where the Sidewalk Ends, and The Cartoon History of the Universe.
“I have these,” I imagine telling them, “because these are the books that give me hope too. The world can be a scary place, and these books remind us, despite how bad it all can seem, there are always things to be happy about. There’s always wonder just beneath the surface if only we can remember how to see it.”
I encourage you to think about what that might have meant to you as a kid. Think about how awesome it would have been to have an adult show you that holding on to hope and happiness and joy were possible as long as you believe it is.