Sometimes we all get so bogged down with the problems of daily life that we forget to invest in ourselves emotionally. Our routine becomes one that requires a careful juggling of expectations from those who count on us for their own well-being. Conveniently forgetting our own needs. Before diving head first into that exhausting list of things to do, take a moment for yourself.
Well, right after you threaten the kids with an even earlier bedtime if they continue to stall, drag the dog for his last walk once you locate the leash and later find yourself cringing on the edge of the bed while listening to your better half once again go on about absolutely nothing for at least another thirty minutes. It’s no wonder most of us reach for the remote. I’ve discovered that it’s more out of habit than necessity. It’s our way of tuning in, in order to tune out.
Whenever I get to the point of not being able to suffer through yet another bad reality show I reach for something tried and true. A book. Let me specify. A good book. I can hear the wheels turning and quiet whispers of what is that? What is this thing she speaks of? Let’s face it technology has turned us all into spoiled brats who only know how to point, click or touch a screen as our only means of expression. Avoiding possible meltdowns and tiny tantrums as long as there is an internet connection available clearly is the goal.
Reading has become a lost art. But I shall expound on that at a much later date. After exhausting my attention span with too much television or doing that old dance called the ipod shuffle because everything on the radio still sucks, I turn to some of my favorite titles written by Baldwin and Hurston. This tends to get me over that cynical hump. Enjoy! But I must warn you, reading, sans computer or phone screen and the actual turning of a page or two will be involved.
“Nobody Knows My Name” “Giovanni’s Room”
“If Beale Street Could Talk” “Sonny’s Blues”
“Dust Tracks On A Road” “Every Tongue Got To Confess”
“Jonah’s Gourd Vine” “Spunk”