As a child I lived in my head. I tried not to go outside and play with neighborhood children because I preferred my own company. I had an active imagination. I played with my dolls for hours. I spent a lot of time daydreaming. I drew images on the newspaper with a ballpoint pen, usually faces and hairdos. I read each of the children's encyclopedias lined up in our room, many times. When I went to the library I would load up. When I came home and piled unread books around me, they seemed like a treasure trove.
Thankfully, neither of my two older sisters spent day time in our shared room. I did. It was my chance to be alone. No one was looking, no one was judging. I was left to my own devices. I quite liked that.
Eventually, I became a wife, mother, and wage earner. I spent the next 50+ years building an external life that was productive. I made the best of it during the hard times. I thrived during the good times. I learned things. Every task I undertook, every person I interacted with during my earning years was a lesson in something or other. I tried to pay attention, and I learned to focus as best I could.
Still, there were times when my computer reminded me I had a meeting to attend. I would gather my purse and be on my way. I'd exit the building and realize I had no idea where the meeting was. No problem, there were other managers leaving their buildings to walk to the exact same meeting. I would either walk with them or follow them. It always worked out just fine.
There is nothing like cuddling up with a good book to transport me to a new place or a new experience. As a child I liked to play but I also read a lot.
ReplyDeleteOur childhoods were so similar. I liked being alone, writing poetry and reading. My siblings used to sing to me, "Every party has a pooper that's why we invited you...Party Pooper!" I'm still the quiet one reading the blogs of other quiet people.
ReplyDeleteWhat do I think? Reading's great. Books and my mother's influence (she was a poet) helped me decide - at age 11 - what I should do with my life. But after a while it seemed as if reading was only half the answer. I wondered, idly, what things were like on the other side of the fence. Turned out that was great too. Unexpectedly I find myself an octogenarian and still alive. Surprises are great too.
ReplyDeleteI spent my childhood upstairs, sprawled on the bed, with a book. Since the upstairs was unheated, I went under the covers and several wool blankets to read. Love the bit about following others to the meeting.
ReplyDeleteI was so happy when I discovered the book club where you could order books and they came to your house. Heaven.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely memory.
I don't know where I would be without libraries. Keep it up with reading. And I hope that in your life, it will continue to always work out just fine.
ReplyDeleteAll my life I have loved to read and mystery books have always been my favorite. I'm glad you found such happiness in your life.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if you liked to be on your own because you had two older sisters and therefore time to yourself felt quite a luxury? I have always thought how nice it must be to have a sister. I loved playing with my friends but was also a bookworm, going to the library each week with my mother to take out as many books as I could comfortably carry. I read in bed and my parents would call out to tell me to turn out the light and go to sleep. I carried on reading under the bedding with the aid of my torch!
ReplyDeleteWhen one is growing up and likes to be alone, books are great companions. All your blogging friends commenting are saying the same – books were and are important to them. They are to me, too.
ReplyDeleteAs a child I also lived very much in my head. Not reading so much as writing little short stories. None of them have survived so I've no idea if they were good or bad. My inner life has always been more important to me than my external life. A bit of company now and again is quite enough for me.
ReplyDelete