On this 23rd last day of 2020 I have to give thanks to the specific thinkers and writers of the great books I “read” this year. They were my therapy and c/o the TPL (Toronto Public Library) it was free. They gave me clarity when there was none. They reminded me of the ‘stuff’ I already knew but had either forgotten or been silenced amongst the nonsense that is our world. They opened me up and blew my mind, heart and soul “page by page”, over and over again.
The statement “2020 was rough.” is an understatement, but it’s the truth. There were times during the year, often social media induced where I felt like I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to think. I felt a lot, but didn’t know what to do with my feelings. My senses were hyper-aware of everything, so much so I couldn’t process any of it.
I used to read A LOT...but somewhere along the way I lost my way. I stopped reading. During my maternity leave, around when my baby boy was about six months I picked up a book and started reading again. Once I got going, I couldn't stop.
As a child my family and I spent a lot of time there. Every Saturday we found ourselves at the Cedarbrae Public Library, partaking in the free programming they offered. For us, the library was an inexpensive place for families to read, learn, and have fun. I got to borrow and read a lot of books, watch puppet shows and, listen to storytellers with my mom and siblings. We didn’t have much, but we had the library, which was a whole lot.