I’m a reader. In fact, for years I hauled boxes upon boxes of books with me each time I moved. Three big bookshelves worth. Y’all, books are heavy. (Here is my sincere apology to all of the wonderful people who used their time and energy to help make that happen.)
I had books from college, seminary, an amazing internship, and just life. I also had notebooks from all said stages of life. I was convinced that I needed all of these books. That I was one day going to need to look something up from one of the books that I was required to read and that if I couldn’t look it up that I was going to let someone down in a way that would ultimately crush them. That might sound extreme to you but it ran through my mind each time I thought about going through my books. How many times did I go back to those books? I’ll give you three guesses.
(image of a client’s curated bookshelf of Newberry Award wining books)
About two years ago, after yet another move, I decided that I just wasn’t reading the majority of the books that adorned my book shelves. Although I am a reader, I am not much of a re-reader. If it’s a story of any kind I’m probably not going to read it again. And unless it’s a super amazing book of truth or insight, my eyes aren’t going to see those pages again. Armed with my new knowledge about myself, I set out to decide which books I would read again. I was ruthless. That is what it took. I was also ready. I had spent years of building my decluttering-muscle.
I am now down to one shelf of books that I will recommend in a heartbeat and will read again, a stack of books for my profession (books that may or may not make it to the prized shelf), three series of books that I treasure, and a rotating stack of books that I am reading and then giving away.
I have substantially lightened the book load around here but I am still a heavy reader. The library, passed along books from friends, and the internet all help me to keep the book load under control.