The Roaming Reader Begins

In the end, it was really about control. My life, it felt, was going off the rails. I had just taken my daughter Delaney to college and sobbed from the parking garage to my home, fifty miles away, then continued to sob randomly to anyone who would look at me the wrong way–including the cat–for the next few weeks. 

I was also clearly in the throes of perimenopause: exhausted all the time, foggy-brained, anxiety-ridden, and seemingly getting fatter by the minute no matter how I changed up my diet or exercise routine. 

I couldn’t control the changes in my body or hormones, I couldn’t control the fact that my daughter was no longer living under my roof, and I desperately, desperately needed to control something. That something turned out to be related to a hobby that had gotten me through some of the toughest times in my life. Reading. 

I have devoured books since I could string two sentences together. Dean Koontz’s early work got me through my junior high years attending a tiny school where I was the only child of divorce. It was tough to develop a strong sense of belonging when you left town every other weekend and all summer to live with your other parent two and a half hours away and I always felt like the other kids were looking at me like I’d grown a second head. 

Mysteries by John Grisham, Patricia Cornwell, and Dennis Lehane filled my lonely summers where I had no one but my nearly mute dad for company,  Eat, Pray, Love was my solace during a soul-destroying relationship with an emotionally abusive boyfriend and The Hunger Games was there for me to binge read when I finally dumped him and regained my life. 

Books have gotten me through the crash and burn of my first marriage and working for the toxic boss who ruled my world for almost 15 years. I read to my daughter from the moment she was born and continued to read to her until she didn’t need me anymore because she was reading to herself. 

Books would be my refuge now. 

However, I’ve realized something. Over the years, I have changed. I’ve evolved from a relatively introverted person who could spend days on end holed up with a book into someone who craves the company of others and delights in exploring new places. The ideal project would have to incorporate both my love of reading and my love of people and adventure. 

That’s when it comes to me. Why not make a project out of reading in public? I tended to do the majority of my reading at home or when I traveled. I’d also developed the habit of always having a book in my car in case I’m ever early for an appointment or need to kill a little time in between errands. But I rarely read out in the wild. What if I made it a point to go explore new places? What would I learn? Who would I meet? What experiences would I have?

Coming up with this project was the first thing that made me truly happy since my daughter left and my hormones started to run amok. This was it. This was my therapy, my calling, my thing. I could face the uncertainty that lay ahead of me if I could have something–a project–I could at least partially control.

And that’s it. My project is set and my mindset is in a much better place because of it.

Oh, and the hormone replacement therapy also helped.