It was an indescribably good feeling to hold the first book I published.
For my entire life up to that point, the words I wrote almost felt imaginary. I know they were there. I know people read them. Some even liked them.
But they were on a screen. I couldn’t feel them or hold them.
When they’re printed on real pages, sandwiched in between a front and back cover, it’s impossible to deny their physical presence.
The feeling persists when holding someone else’s words.
When those words are printed, they are manifested on this physical plane, available for anyone to see, hold, and read.
You must go out in the world to find these words. You must interact with the world around you.
You have to talk to people. You have to open a few doors. Maybe you have to put on a rain jacket and rush inside before getting soaked.
Or you could just click a few buttons on Amazon. But that’s no fun.
It’s so much more fun the other way.
It’s fun to go on an adventure. Even if it’s just down the street to your local bookstore.
It’s fun to go into that bookstore with a purpose but still spend your time browsing through other books. And to talk to the other browsers and see what they’re looking to read.
And then it’s fun to settle on your choice and leave. And to embrace the weather outside, grave and mood-lifting alike.
And then to decide where to read these words. Is it in a hammock alongside a running stream, marking your territory in a land dominated by racing chipmunks and hummingbirds? Or in that comfy corner of your living room with the perfect lighting?
It’s fun to take that book on trips with you, shelving the technology for a while and diving in while transporting to a faraway land. It’s kind of frustrating making room and getting that thing in your bag but you just love it so much that you do it.
It should be a priority. Because it’s real. It’s not words on a screen. It’s someone’s heart and spirit, caked onto white pages and tucked inside another piece of art in its own right.
It’s not like anything else. It’s a soul, roaming the earth to make an impact just like you and me.
When you one day depart this world, what do you want people to see? Do you want them to see a bunch of numbers on a screen and call it your legacy?
Or do you want them to see your bookshelf? Maybe it’s an entire wall, or an entire room. Maybe it’s just the table next to your bed.
But it’s you. It’s proof that you were there. It’s proof that you interacted with this world. It shows what you liked and didn’t like. All those stories, combined, are your story.
A story that has some wear a tear. It’s battered and discolored. But it survived. It moved forward and didn’t hold onto its once-perfect self.
So, please, don’t quit the hardback book. We want to look through your bookshelf when all is said and done.