Coming Home.

I've been feeling kind of lost, like I forgot how to fall in love with reading again.

It's getting a bit fuzzy, like I don't know which book to read and I don't know how to love it like I did before.

Over the summer, I read The Glass Castle and I found myself reading it at every possible opportunity that was given to me to read. I literally never put it down.

When the school year started though, I was in a sort of doubt that the year was coming all over again and one of the many things I pushed away in anticipation was my love for reading. I don't know why that was one of the things I lost in the transition, but my goal until just yesterday had been to get my self back in the zone. To regain my life of reading and living in my reading like I always had.

I discovered that just like working your way up with something small and allowing it to get bigger and bigger until you've mastered it works with reading as well.

There was always that mysterious looking book with the torn cover sitting on the book shelf in my family room. It used to sit along side my mom's old, old, copy of Are You There God, It's Me Margaret. My mom's name was written in the cover, which I only discovered as I stared at the page I had just ripped out, I guess it was that old.

But not like the purple book that smelled like my grandparent's house and soon after my discovery became my favorite book of all times, stood the weird looking green book. It wasn't as appealing, it did not have a pretty girl on the cover, it had a young boy, something that I at the time I wasn't very interested in.

Then, I wanted to read about growing up, the journeys along the way, the steps you need to take to rise above. This boy did not seem to match my expectations.

But then again, don't judge a book by its cover.

Not like it even mattered, anytime I ever brought it up my mom told me to wait another year until I picked it up.

That went on for five years.

I actually forgot about it, up until a few days ago when my mother suggested that maybe I wasn't reading the way I used to? Maybe I needed to get "lost in my reading" once again? I asked her, what book she thought would be good to get me back on track.

She led me right to that book shelf.

The one that I had pushed away too many times in assumption my mom would just move me away from it, again.

But this time, she let me hold the book. She let me see beyond the cover and the mystery and she let me see and hear and feel the words.

No, I let myself see and hear and feel the words.

It was because I was reading a book that almost seemed familiar because I had seen it so many times that I'm now back on track.

I arrived at an activity early and instead of pulling out my cell phone I pulled out a book.

A book.

It was because I was starting out with something kind of home-y that I was able to return to my sanctuary of reading and loving reading.

So now I know, now I know that whenever I am feeling stuck, I should return to a book that I know will be comfortable and relaxing for me to read. That'll be my reminder, my wake up call to never stop loving the words on the page, whether they lie in front of you or not.

Nothing I could ever experience reading Harry Potter.