I finished a book today. I know that doesn’t sound like a big deal to anyone but me, but trust me... It’s a big deal.
I haven’t read a book all the way through in almost two years.
That probably comes as a huge surprise to those who knew me in my “former life”. I’m an avid reader. Or at least… I was.
I love books. I have shelves full of them back home in Africa. More books than shelves to hold them actually. And I’ve always thought that was a good problem to have.
But I haven’t felt much like reading in the past couple years.
I haven’t felt much like doing anything I used to enjoy. Nothing’s mattered like it used to.
So reaching the last page of my novel today felt monumental.
I'm not even convinced yet that it felt good. I'm not sure it was as much a victory as it simply was... a step.
Good. Bad. Indifferent. Forwards. Backwards. Sideways. I don’t know.
But it was a step.
Maybe the significance lies in the mere fact that I got to close the back cover on something. Anything.
Closure. Completeness. It is finished.
There are so many areas of my life that are undone right now. My heart included.
And, if I'm being honest, I think I fear the back cover just as much as I crave it.
My chest tightens, my breathing shallows, and my heart physically hurts just thinking about that. It's all just too much.
So I grab the hand of my sweet companion, Denial, and choose to revel in the step taken with reaching the last page of a book.
Silly though it may be...