This morning I saw this poem shared on an email discussion group I’m part of, and I remembered that I’d seen it before and meant to blog about it and then promptly forgotten all about it. So here it is, author Richard Peck’s poem about reading.
I read because one life isn’t enough,
and in the pages of a book I can be anybody;
I read because the words that build
the story become mine, to build my life;
I read not for happy endings but for new beginnings;
I’m just beginning myself, and I wouldn’t mind a map;
I read because I have friends who don’t,
and young though they are, they’re beginning to run out of material;
I read because every journey begins at the library,
and it’s time for me to start packing;
I read because one of these days I’m going to get out of this town,
and I’m going to go everywhere and meet everyone, and I want to be ready.
I can’t begin to put into words how much this resonates with me. Every single one of these things describes my life at one time or another, that final one feels incredibly relevant to my thinking at the moment.
When I looked for the full wording of the poem for this post I found this lovely post from Notes from the Slushpile about Richard Peck. He sounds absolutely fascinating, I know I’m going to be reading more about him as soon as I can.