A few years ago I began trying to read through the books in my parent’s house, starting with children’s books.

I’d borrow a bag of books whenever I visited, read them, and return them. I ended up reading books I had, for years, looked upon with disdain only to find that I had, indeed, judged those books by their covers. I have since found treasures buried among longtime favourites. I’ve started doing this with my books as well.

By forcing myself to read books I had never wanted to read before because I thought the covers were boring, or because I thought ‘I’ll get to this one day’, I have ended up finding beauty and a renewed desire to read. I have also been able to let go of stories I don’t like or want to keep so others could, perhaps, find a story that speaks to them.

I have not finished this self-made task and I almost don’t want to. It’s a fun (re)discovery mixed with a peace from letting go and not holding on to a book out of obligation or ‘just because’.