Books are the one thing that I have always felt entirely justified purchasing. They also happen to be the one thing that I might say I have a collection of, albeit small. While only a few books serve as well-worn references, my bookshelves as a whole offer an externalization of my identity to anyone who cares to peruse them. They offer me a retrospective of my life. The titles elicit memories of specific times, places, experiences, and people.
I recently heard about a book that would be enriching for No-New, "Shiny Objects" by James Roberts. I resisted my programming on book purchasing. Even my affinity for owning books could not overcome the contradiction inherent in purchasing a book subtitled, "Why We Spend Money We Don't Have in Search of Happiness We Can't Buy."
I procured the book with an easy trip to my local library. Two chapters into the book, I was able to happily reflect on how I had not spent any money on this complete flop of a book. When it came due, I gladly returned it with a fleeting thought as to how I might warn future borrowers of the book not to waste their time.
While the book was not a success, the library sure was. I have since discovered that the library is able to access books from many other library systems, including those of large universities. This is fabulous news when the closest university (and major city) is a two and a half hour drive over mountain passes.
While I am not yet tempted to give up my existing collection, I am now curious about the role that it fills for me and what it would mean to let it go. As I contemplate, my library card is getting a good workout.
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