Today’s guest post comes from Jenn at The Picky Girl. Jenn’s was one of the first book blogs I started reading regularly, and I especially loved her DIY home improvement posts. She’s been a dear friend since we met for breakfast at BEA and toured the expo together last year.
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In a week marked by a snake bite (yes, really) and possibly one of the best dates ever (*sigh*), the word peace seems ever important. Last weekend, I hosted a game night at my house, and the first guest to arrive stepped into my reading room/dining room and said, “I feel so at peace in this room.”
We talked briefly of the difference between peace and happiness as others arrived, but all week I’ve thought about peace. For people who don’t like to read or who view reading as a competition, the room may feel uncomfortable or stressful, but in my home, I hope that my love of books is evident. The room is geared around books and conversation with the only table off to the side, a means to an end as opposed to the purpose of what most would see as the dining room of the home.
Books don’t give peace. Bookshelves don’t make a person peaceful, necessarily. But the combination of the two, for people who do love books, is powerful. On any given afternoon, I come home from work and take 30 minutes or so to unwind, tucked in the corner of this sofa. Sunlight streams through the large windows, and I shed my earrings and bracelets in a bowl on my side table, leaving my work behind. I crack open a book from my shelves and escape, however briefly.
The books I read are rarely what I’d describe as peaceful, but the quiet act of coming home and reclaiming a bit of myself instills a calm in my day I look forward to consistently.
So my bookshelves may be a point of conversation, a way of telling my life story in a way, but they’re also my sanity.