I made a comment on a blog the other week. The author’s post was about reading a new book and thinking of all the people who need to read this. I wrote that if a book makes me think of what’s wrong with other people, then it might not be the book for me, that if it was good and challenged me I wouldn’t be thinking of others. And that ultimately, I might recommend it to them, but it wouldn’t be high up on my list.
Right now, I’m reading a book that’s making me think of the other guy, making me say, I wish so-and-so would be able to read this. And it hitched a giddy-up in my saddle. (How many metaphors did I mix with that one?) I came up short with another thought – am I thinking of specks in someone else’s eyes while ignoring what might be a 2×4 in mine?
I really appreciate (1) finding time to read “for me” – not for a class or for church or for work, just pick up something I want to read for my own mojo. And (2) being challenged, tweaked and changed by what I read, by the story I can get lost in, by the perceptions that can be scrutinized, repented and reworked out in my life. And this weekend’s realization that maybe I was missing out on “my thing” by focusing too much on anyone else’s “my thing” – well, that wasn’t going to be a good thing.
So I’m making a note of it here for posterity and for both of you reading. And I’m going to go pick up my book that is now totally and unabashedly for me, for myself, for I. The three of us are going to read, and we’ll discuss it after we’re done over coffee, maybe a pastry or two.