I see all the shiny new books and browse all the little treasures as my brain goes ooooh preciooous. I vanish into a sea of stimulus, novelty, and discovery.īut with the ecstasy there also came the agony of not being able to read all of these insanely cool books. When would I find out about Operation Mincemeat, the successful British disinformation campaign against the Nazis? Or master the physics of cooking? Or delve into the 900-page lives of John Rockefeller and Alexander Hamilton (thanks a lot, Ron Chernow)? I would add them to my Amazon “Interesting books” list, which someday my future self would no doubt tackle all 640 titles thereof.Īnd then, there were the 100+ unread books in my own library.
They exert a gravitational pull on me like a black hole pulls in a photon and obliterates all signs of its existence, putting a stop to time. I have a mini-confession for you: I love bookstores.Īctually, that is not entirely true.
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