What is it with me and books?!

How is it that I can't remember what happened last week, yet I can remember where I was, what I was thinking, or what I felt when I have read one of hundreds of books that my eyes have crossed over the years? I was just thinking about this as I was going through my "Visual Bookshelf" on Facebook (that I have also connected to the bottom of my blog page here) a few hours ago. I have written a bit about this before in a past blog entry, but I am realizing more and more how many of my life memories (some seemingly insignificant, yet significant enough in its mundaneness) are attached to books I have read.

It seems to be a playful joke amongst my friends....if you need a book recommendation, go to Katie because surely there is a great chance she has already read what you are searching for or might be interested in reading. I take it as a compliment of sorts, especially considering there are very few people I know that read as many books (especially on diverse subjects, fiction and non-fiction alike) as I do. I'm not being arrogant when I say this; it's basic fact. I get excited when a friend asks me if I have read such and such a book or what I recommend. It also makes me miss the working-at-a-bookstore days now and then.

Just as specific songs carry meaning (whether intentional or unconsciously) for people, this is incredibly true for me with books....perhaps even more so for me than music. I love music, don't get me wrong, but it is books I resonate with most. You know those silly, fun 'get to know you' questions you find in conversational games that ask something like "What objects would most reflect who you are as a person?" Well, for me....it's absolutely every single book I have read and will read. Why? Because on some level, it reveals part of who I am.....whether something I'm curious to learn, something that resonates with my values and beliefs at the core, a thought or emotion a book brings out in me, my secret/hidden curiosities and desires, even memories of a person, place, or thing attached to a specific book. Perhaps this is why I have an unquenchable desire to continue searching for various books, to add to my bookshelf of memories in the making. A book can be just as much of a snapshot into my life as a photograph.

I remember devouring Augusten Burrough's "Dry" in the span of one day in my studio apartment in Chicago, sometimes being so engrossed that I brought it into the kitchen, hunched over the counter reading it as I prepared a meal or boiling hot water for tea on the stove. I remember sitting at a table in a busy Michigan Avenue Starbuck's one cold and dreary afternoon reading another Burrough's book, "Magical Thinking." I remember reading "Self Made Man" in the intake room on a slow, quiet morning at PDS, most likely because my office was too cold from the air blowing underneath the unventilated Emergency exit door.

There was "The Awakening," "Scarlet Letter", "Emotional Alchemy," and "The Art of Happiness," which I associate with the summer I was living in Kentucky....depressed, hopeless, and downtrodden with no job and no real "life" in sight after graduating college. I was living in an RV, waking up to cows "mooing" outside my bedroom window, working with deadbeats at Cracker Barrel where I was the only one single, educated, and childless. I was lonely and crying for hope, crying for change, crying for something better. Those books gave me something to grasp for and hold onto before I moved to Chicago, Illinois 5-6 months later.

Books that I associate with men who I was interested in and/or broke my heart.....a writer named Jobie I met online who captivated me with his literary intellect and passion, suggesting books like "Flowers for Algernon"( his favorite book), "Thirteenth Tale," and "Factotum" (which he could really identify with, a red flag that should have warned me after I read it and hated the misogynistic themes). Too bad his taste for books didn't parallel his true personality (well, except "Factotum" unfortunately). Around that same time, I met AJ, a cute and sweet Marine 7 years younger than myself. There was something about him that I fell for, something endearing. I read "On Killing" per his recommendation, and later gave him "Deep Survival," "Brothel Mustang Ranch and its Women," and a few John Douglass profiler books before he was deployed back to Iraq. Sealed with a metaphorical kiss, the books have stayed with him and I have not. It was as if I knew I wouldn't see him again or for very long thereafter, my books becoming the only memory of me to live on in spirit...in his possession. I think about him once in awhile and wonder if he still has my books. Even though we are no longer in touch (it was too painful for me to continue communicating with him at all), I hope he only thinks of me fondly when he sees those books, another lifetime ago.

"Siddhartha" my junior or senior year of high school was my first real introduction to what I would begin to resonate with more and more throughout my life: Buddhism. While everyone else in English class read some simplistic, inane book for a required book review assignment, that is the book I chose. I loved every deep page of it.

"A Million Little Pieces" brings me back to my practicum days at Rice in 2004, and reminds me of the day James Frey went on Oprah. My opinion of her character hasn't been the same since then (in regard to how she handled the controversy surrounding the truthfulness of parts of the book....don't even get me started on that!).

"Kite Runner" was read almost entirely on a flight back to Chicago, and I remember raving to my friends Eddie and Rajiv about how they absolutely must read it while we had sushi in a restaurant near their Edgewater apartment soon after I got back from my trip. "The Namesake" reminds me of Rajiv, how we both read it and how excited he was to have me see the movie with him (even though he had already seen it once on a day I was feeling ill and was unable to go originally).

"Heroin" gave me a little more confidence and knowledge after I started working at PDS. "Trauma and Recovery" did the same after I started working at SMH. "Trauma Stewardship" (thank God for my social worker friend Pat's recommendation on this one!) gave me hope, validation, and encouragement during a time I felt incredibly burnt out, somewhat crazy, and depressed working with so many trauma clients at my current job. "Sickened" was another class book review for an Adlerian family class in grad school...quite disturbing. "Toward a Psychology of Being" by Abraham Maslow....I associate with laying on the warm, green grass along the Belmont Harbor lakefront in my old Chicago neighborhood.

I remember sitting on a bench in one of the buildings of the UIC campus reading "Harmful to Minors" (a book my friend Melissa recommended I read) for a little while as I waited for my friend Sara to meet me for lunch at a nearby pizza place.

"The Bell Jar," "Freakanomics," "Tipping Point," and "Devil in the White City" just a few of the numerous books I "checked out" with the library loan while I was working at Borders. I remember reading DITWC on cold bus rides home from work, from Michigan Ave to Lakeshore Drive to Belmont....creeping myself out because my imagination was taking me to visualizing myself living during that time period in the SAME city amongst an unsuspecting sadistic serial killer who hated women. Yikes!

Books I've read that remind me of ex-coworkers and friends because they recommended the book(s) to me: "The Comfort of Strangers" (Nate), "Not Buying It" and "Set This House in Order" (Melissa), the Dexter series (Juan).

Or places...."Memories, Dreams, and Reflections" remind me of my late philosophical and spiritual Uncle Don, a book he urged me to read and which I did while we were both living in Reno, Nevada for a brief time. "Memoirs of a Geisha" bringing me back to standing across the street from Dominick's on Fullerton Ave, waiting for the #74 bus at 5:30am to take me to PDS on Elston....all bundled up in three layers of clothing because it was freezing ass cold. The excitement of reading "Of Human Bondage" at the same time my mom was reading it, just for fun and to discuss it together.....sitting at a table in the Fixx on Sheffield sipping a coffee and feverishly taking notes as I soaked in the character development of Philip Carey and his lifelong adventures.

As you can see, I could go on endlessly recounting my books, my memories, my loves. Can you understand now how I can say books are a window into my soul? And how anyone in my life who asks me about a book, tells me about a book, or wants to talk about a book instantly brings a nostalgic smile to my face? God, I love books.

A Different Kind of Birthday

"Sweet 16" and becoming "legal" at 21....these are but a few of the milestone birthdays people tend to make a big deal over. You know what I'm talking about...the big parties thrown, the ones where such craziness ensues that later on down the road friends start off their nostalgic anecdotes with "Remember your 21st birthday? How insane was that? We were all so trashed that night." For me, there was no such craziness.

From childhood up until young adulthood, I remember secretly hoping my friends or family would throw me a surprise birthday party. Given the usual experience I had of being lucky if people even remembered my birthday (just 9 days before Christmas), I felt that if there were to be a surprise party I honestly would be completely surprised. I wouldn't be the person who knows about the surprise and has to put on a good show with "I had NO idea! Wow!" Just the decoy of Christmas preparation itself would be enough to leave me clueless, distracted, and pleasantly taken aback by the surreptitious plans to be.

Throughout my early twenties, my idealistic feelings about my birthday dwindled. I simply looked forward to celebrating my birthday with whoever had the opportunity to break away from the holiday madness. In my late twenties, however, my birthday started to feel more like a cliche'. Same day: December 16th. Same way to celebrate: dinner and drinks at a bar. Different year. As my 30th birthday apporached, I thought about what I could do differently. I wanted to have a meaningful birthday, one that would accurately reflect and celebrate the real me.

"I'm so tired of doing the same thing every year for my birthday, most of the time with people who aren't even my close friends. It's so boring and uneventful," I lamented to my best friend Rajiv. It was a bitter cold evening, as we sipped our hot beverages at a small table in Argo Tea on the corner of Broadway and Briar. Christmas lights twinkled along the storefronts, pedestrians feverishly scurrying by our window in their layered clothing. Aside from being my best friend, Rajiv can attest to the having-a-birthday-so-close-to-Christmas frustration....his is exactly a week before mine.

"Yeah, I know..." he nodded with me in agreement.

"So what can we do? I want to do something fun. I want to go somewhere!" Rajiv's eyes lit up. A fellow Sagittarian, Rajiv has wanderlust and didn't need convincing.

Although we wanted to go somewhere the three of us (he, Eddie, and I) had never been, we decided on a place two out of the three of us had not yet visited. Just as cold as, if not colder than Chicago? Check. Slightly touristy place during the wonderful non-tourist season? Check. Out of state, yet not too far to travel by car for a short road trip? Sold. I was going to Mackinac Island, Michigan with my two best friends. Rajiv told us he had been there with his cousin on two separate occasions, both of which had been during the summer months. In a way, it would be an entirely different experience for him...seeing snow and hardly any people in an otherwise thriving summer tourist destination.

After getting settled in at the Driftwood Motel in St. Ignace, we warmed up our bodies with food an cocktails. Talking and laughing, we peered around the restaurant and noticed we were the youngest individuals in the room....or at least the only ones in our age bracket. According to locals, most people do not live in the area during the winter months. So not only were we visiting a place during the off season for tourists, we were also in a land of few locals. It was as if we had the whole island to ourselves. Any time we would enter a restaurant, bar or store, the first question asked was inevitably "Where are you from?" Had we visited the island any other time of year, I wonder if we would have taken such efforts to talk with the locals. This made the trip more fascinating and fun, in my eyes.

The lady who worked at the obscure, non-descript art museum told us about her penchant for getting stoned while fly fishing on the lake. Then there was our jolly bartender Dustin who worked at Kewadin Casino. He lamented about not leaving his house in the winter unless he has to shop or go to work.

During a shuttle ride back to the Driftwood our first night there, we asked the friendly driver Mike where we could go for a delicious breakfast in the morning. He recommended Java Joe's, a quaint restaurant that resembles a small yellow house. Initially a pizza joint when it first opened, over the years Java Joe's broadened its culinary horizons to include a smorgasboard of breakfast food, coffee, salads, sandwiches, milkshakes, crepes, dinner entrees, and desserts! We were so impressed with the food and customer service, especially the crepes and stuffed french toast. We ended up having breakfast there twice, the second time the morning of my birthday. The best breakfast of my life on my 30th birthday. Now that's memorable!

When we weren't eating, we were trying our luck at the local casino. I made the mistake of taking a few pictures of my friends playing the slot machines. I was tipsy, easily amused, and unknowingly breaking the casino's rules of no picture taking on 'the pit' (the term they use to describe the location of the slot machines and game tables). Rajiv and I were approached by security guards....he for looking suspicious with a 'man purse' and I for my photography faux pas. It seemed we were definitely testing our 'luck' that night. Fortunately, we escaped the clutches of the security guards unscathed. Unfortunately, we did not hit the jackpot...although they probably would have thought we had cheated if we had won. With Rajiv's man purse and my evil camera, we must have had something up our sleeves!

Young rebels at heart by night, the three of us were just your typical eager tourists by day. Sauntering onto the 10:30am ferry from St. Ignace to Mackinac Island, Eddie, Rajiv and I huddled together to keep warm. I was excited. I had never been on a ferry before! If we thought St. Ignace was desolate, the island was even more isolated. While we were the fools on foot walking everywhere for about five hours, locals sped over the thick, white snow on their snowmobiles. Initially what seemed like a good idea, we stopped for a hot Bailey's Irish coffee before making our journey across the island. Peace, quiet, snow, trees, friends, and a new place to explore. What else could I ask for?

.....a toilet. Why did I have to drink anything knowing there wouldn't be any restrooms on the island besides the ONE at the only bar that was open on the island, the bar we would end up walking far away from? I held it for as long as possible, until I could hold it no longer. Handing over my coat and bag to Eddie, I made a beeline for the snowy embankment behind a shed that housed leather straps near Arch Rock. Finally, relief!

After consuming beer and pizza for dinner, we slept like champions that night. The following day was the big 3-0; we headed about an hour away to another remote destination: Tahquamenon Falls, a photographer lover's paradise. I was in snowy heaven. We walked around, snapped numerous photos, and wandered into a nearby brewery for lunch. I had never been to a brewery before. I decided to be adventurous and try a few other new things: cherry wheat beer and an edible orchid flower that came with our meal. Eddie summed up the edible flower best: "It pretty much tastes the way I'd imagine a flower to taste...."

Despite the creepy dead animals (cougars, bears, moose, and any other wintery forest animal you can think of) mounted all over the walls, the food at the brewery was the best food I had the entire trip: salad, homemade bread, charbroiled jumbo shrimp marinated in herbs and beer, rice pilaf, corn and "Chocolate Seduction" cake.

We realized we were fairly close to the Canadian border from where we were at the falls. I thought it would be cool to get as close as we could and find something fun to do near there. Sault ("Soo") St. Marie, Michigan, however, appeared less exciting than I had conjured up in my imagination. It was dark outside by early evening and the temperature was dwindling with the passing hours.

That night, we managed to be accepted into the casino without another untoward incident. Getting arrested on my 30th birthday for taking pictures definitely would have been unforgettable and ironic on multiple levels, but after all the adventures of the birthday trip there was just one thing left I wanted to do....play Scrabble with Eddie. Sometimes simple things can be just as memorable.

Writing, reading, and growth

A close friend of mine brought to my attention the other day that a whole month has gone by without me writing/posting a blog. While I would like to blame it on the creative writing class I've been taking since early October, regretfully I haven't even been able to churn out every writing assignment for the class. I can ponder on a myriad of factors, like....I have come to the conclusion I don't like being forced to write about a vague topic in a specific style and in a short period of time, I'm many times too exhausted from my therapy and case management work to have enough energy, brain cells, or creativity to write (I truly feel that everyone except therapists don't understand this, but it's a very real struggle/issue) and blah, blah, blah....but when it comes down to it, I simply feel a block in my writing that I am trying to overcome. I think I am in a limbo state of my life right now, hopefully one of positive growth and change. I spend so much time analyzing at work, and then analyzing what I am doing right, wrong, or could improve upon in my personal life. I get tired of working so hard sometimes when it comes to people....helping them, understanding them, and when need be, letting go of some of them. I guess I'm in the wrong profession, huh? ha!

I'm currently reading a book by my absolute favorite famous therapist/author David Schnarch. This is a man who blew me away with his book "Passionate Marriage," which I read with the utmost fascination, curiosity, openmindedness, and respect when I was in grad school. Few books have provided me with radical insightful awakenings and propelled me to really grow, that book being one of them. Now he has a new book called "Intimacy and Desire," which hasn't been as eye opening as PM but excellent and brilliant nonetheless.

As I read the case vignettes on the couples he has worked with, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have him as MY therapist. To have him pick my brain....strengths, neuroses and all....I think I would grow alot faster and alot more! I have come pretty far in my personal growth if I do say so myself, but I still feel stuck in the relationship department. There were things he described that I found myself doing, things I don't want to do or be and am trying to change. He also talks about how every relationship has two kinds of cycles: one of comfort (an absence of anxiety) and one of growth (which requires a degree of anxiety and having a secure sense of self to be able to push past the discomfort of anxiety).

If most people cannot endure the anxiety needed for genuine intimacy and growth, it's a wonder to me how anyone has managed to maintain a long-term relationship. Then again, half of marriages end in divorce! I hope I find a man someday who is willing to grow....for himself, for me, and with me. Reading this book about all the potential things one can learn about oneself(and truly grow) while in an intimate relationship with another makes me want to meet 'the one' all the faster, all the more. In the meantime, I'm just gonna keep on growin' by myself. And I can only hope me being able to write more easily and frequently will be one of the tools in the process.