Three is one of those magical numbers. Any more? We’ll forget. Any less? It doesn’t seem quite enough. Three points in an essay. Three pieces to a suit. Three cheers. Three weeks to make a habit.
It is almost certainly why I chose three as my weekly goal, when I began my library adventure about a year ago. The adventure really wasn’t intentional – I was merely cleaning out a box which my Mother passed along, of trinkets from when I was in high school. The box contained all my most prized possessions at the time – poems scribbled in the margins of school notes, a broken necklace I used to wear daily, gifts from past lovers, and beach rocks from the east coast which you could still smell the ocean on. It was arguably the most uninteresting part of the whole box, an old library card that is, with its green and white plastic face and my teenage signature scrolled across the back.
I’m still not quite sure why I decided I would make it my mission to go out and renew it – perhaps nostalgia, perhaps a want to reach farther, perhaps sheer boredom. I was never much of a “reader”, the English teachers never knew my name – I was more interested in DO-ing, and when I did read it almost always was to learn a new skill or something equally practical.
The library was nothing like I remember it being. The silence was a much welcomed oasis in a fast and noisy life. I noticed (on more occasion than one) that I would linger there without real need, browsing isle by isle, book by book, listening to soft whispers and shuffling feet.
My Goal: Three movies, three CD’s every week; One book every three weeks.
Double dog dare you to join me?
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