I am a reader. To the core, no doubt about it.
Recently, I started realizing something that I often do. Something that I’m certain most of us do, but something I’m a little ashamed of, nonetheless.
I judge books by their covers. It’s true.
I was at the local library last week, filling my arms with as many books as I could possibly carry. And then I realized: everything I was holding had a pretty, shiny cover. My books showcased people in mysterious poses, mysteriously shadowed, with mysterious expressions and mysteriously beautiful backgrounds. Or they had simplistic fronts: a jacket in a beautiful color with a large gorgeous font, or a tiny symbol meant to represent some aspect of the awaiting story.
They were all books like this:
Then I realized that I was ignoring the other books, totally contradicting my belief that looks aren’t everything. And I felt really bad.
This may sound ridiculous. But please understand that I am a very compassionate person, compassionate to a fault. When I was little and had tons of stuffed animals (beanie-babies were a favorite), I created a schedule for them, i.e.: Snowy, Cuddles, and Fluffy could be on my bed on Mondays, while Oliver, Cinnamon, and Daisy were a Tuesdays-only crowd. Now, the reason why I did this? I didn’t want to hurt my stuffed animals’ feelings. Yeah, it was that bad. (Do I need a support group?)
So once I finally realized the error of my ways, I checked this out:
It was perfect!
Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try to hide it as I walked to check it out.
Still, a short novel covered by bold, mustard-colored letters proclaiming “Hot Lunch” and a smug blue-haired girl in a green waffle-knit shirt was in my (temporary) possession.
I had overcome.
[Oh, and I read the book. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t that great, either. The point is, though, that I broke through the wall. Maybe a slew of “amazing personality” books are just out there, waiting for me to see past their not-s0-pretty faces.]
So here’s what’s next:
(wish me luck. xo, j)