Brazen Bibliophage

National Book Lovers day was August 9. I don’t care for these made-up holidays, usually. In fact, I rather despise some of them (Star Wars Day, I’m looking at you). However, I will jump on any opportunity to celebrate my lifelong love of reading and what it has wrought for me. 

What’s interesting to me about this day and other made-up holidays, is that they are ways that we celebrate proclivities that were once either invisible or shunned. 

I don’t recall being left out because I loved to read — that was based on religious beliefs when I was a child. But I remember loving to read and knowing that it was always there for me. Perhaps my view was so myopic that I couldn’t see that my passion for reading and learning was part of the problem for others. But I don’t think that’s true. I seemed to be rather envied for my expansive knowledge in high school. Then again, my high school wasn’t typical. 

Learning has always come easy for me, no doubt in part because I read so much. I soak up knowledge like a sponge. 

Sometimes I forget this. An opportunity to learn something new or increase my knowledge in one area pops up and I open the page in a new tab, maybe even register for the site, if that’s required, or acquire a book about it. And it sits there — that opportunity stares me in the face every time I look at my screen, but I do nothing about it. 

One day, that urge to learn and take advantage of my ability to do so overcomes me and I dive into the website or book. I devour the knowledge and pack it away in my brain. It’ll idle away the time there until some circumstance brings it into the light. 

Then I’ll marvel at not only that bit of information, but the whole lot of information that I’ve stored. And I’ll think, “Hot damn! I’m smart! Like really intelligent. My knowledge is tremendous!” 

I’ll go to speak these notions and my brain will stutter and tell me, “No! You can’t say that. It’s gauche.” But I can. I can say that! I AM FUCKING SMART. I AM FILLED WITH KNOWLEDGE. I AM INTELLIGENT. I AM A FUCKING GENIUS!

And you can do the same. You can shout about your proclivities from the rooftop, and you can deem yourself whatever you want as a result of them. 

These proclivities, these hobbies, interests, whatever nomenclature you prefer, are part of you. An integral part that is just as valid and valuable as any other part of you or any part of any person. 

Consider these interests sparks within you that are always there, like two sticks forever rubbing together, a flint continuously clicking away, a pilot light that never goes out. 

The key is that the only matter that can be ignited by these sparks are the bits of kindling (gases or chemicals, however you choose to view them) within you. You can’t get them from others. No compliment or validation from someone else will catch fire here.  No one can give you what you need to transform.

And you must always start small. Feed your spark with the kindling first — small sticks, bits of grass, little habits that you do daily. Once the flame is steady, add on those bigger pieces — branches, tree trunks sawed in sections and split in fourths, then halves, followed by entire sections, then entire trunks of trees — your big goals that need that steady, small flame to caress them into a lively blaze. 

The material you need to kindle the spark and start a bonfire is always within you. Sometimes you’ll have to search for it, even the massive bits. 

Keep mining your depths. 

And keep shouting out the results. The world wants to hear you.

Find your fire. Light it. Tend to it. Make it a beacon that all can see. And just shine.