Flashback
A bookstore is a sanctuary… until your own past follows you in.
I’m at the bookstore. I love bookstores. They are like upgraded libraries. Nicer. Consumer friendly. I think a dream come true would be to own a bookstore in a coastal town. Someplace by the beach. And customers would come in and buy the latest steamy trash novel to read and get hot and bothered at the beach.
Or, maybe in New England, specializing in old books. We have several prized first editions and old patrons come and buy and sell very rare and valuable tomes.
Today, I was just in a nice bookstore. Not amazing. But the first we found at the beach. I was walking the aisles when I stumbled into the ‘business’ section and had PTSD rush back from 2008, when I wanted to start freelancing while still holding a full-time job.
I went to Barnes and Noble to look for books on bookkeeping (I still suck at this) and general business stuff. The stressor was that I was TERRIFIED my boss would catch me and I’d lose my job.
It was crazy. I was jumpy, glancing around like a man worried his wife was going to catch him looking at pornography.
Just thinking about it makes panic claw at me.
How dumb it all seems now.
Why did I worry so much about what one person thought of me? And it’s unrealistic anyway to think he would have any idea what I was doing.
Plus it’s not like the guy was a bibliophile. I think books were for him as they are for most: set dressing for guests to admire. Bought by the foot to fill an impressive-looking place.
Turns out I didn’t need those books—or that job. Nearly 20 years later, I’m still eating.
Though it’s not completely worry-free. At least I don’t look over my shoulder at bookstores anymore.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
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