I love books – the way they look on the shelves, how they feel in my hands, and the smell of the paper as I rifle through the pages. They’re perfectly compact treasures we carry to work, on the commuter train, and our kid’s karate practices. They’re one of the few things in this world that seem to be perfected along with French baguettes, episodes of The Big Bang Theory, and Spumoni ice cream.
But does their perfection mean we shouldn’t write in them? Do we ruin them by adding our thoughts, covering the pages with highlighter, notation, and insight? I don’t think so. Somehow, for me, the book becomes more perfect. Now, instead of being a museum piece, it’s a cherished object, loved and studied by you. It has moved from the status of “dust collector” to “intellectual companion.” I suppose it is possible to make something perfect even better.
Until tomorrow, read slowly – take notes – apply the ideas.
-Eddy
I love this – I feel like I’ve been given permission to write in my books. For some reason, I always feel so hesitant to do that.