Beautiful Day

I've made it a rule (that I've pretty much followed, surprisingly) not to blog about things that I do in my professional or academic life. In other words, I only blog about my avocations. I think this is smart. First, it won't get me into trouble with the few people who read this blog (hopefully) assuming I have any professional relationship with those people. Second, eh I'm bored of listing reasons and I'll get to the point.

The point is, I'm going to talk about a book that's tenuously related to my academic life right now. Which is why - and for no other reason - I am not going to mention the book's name, or its author, or what it's about. Maybe what it's about will come up, but I'll try not to let it.

Anyway, I was rereading a book yesterday for a pseudo-academic pursuit. I had read this book the first time in high school, and hadn't picked it up in as many years. It turns out I had written notes in it, when I was in twelfth grade, I think. This was in the highlight of my loving literature phase. I discovered books - really, for the first time, even though I had discovered my love of reading much earlier - in 10th grade. That was when I started reading like crazy - I mean spending a good portion of my waking hours reading.

Anyway, I figured my notes would be crappy. After all, I was seventeen. I had no or little knowledge of the world. I was incredibly surprised to find 1) (here we go listing things again) my handwriting was crisp and nice, like it is now, when I want it to be (which is rare) and 2) the points I was making were not only good, but were as good or better than points I would make in the margins of my book today. Goddamit, I thought. I was smart.

Which made me sad. Because not only was I smart, then. I also clearly had a love, a desire to know. Something I've sort of lost. I can spend hours staring at crap on a computer screen (hello, woot.com) now, and I know that I wouldn't have been able to then. I would've prioritized better. I would have cared more. It takes effort for me to pick up a novel, now, because I know there is so much else I need to be doing. Then, I didn't give a damn about anything else.

Anyway, this is why I was sad yesterday.

Today, however, is a beautiful day (just look at the title of this blog post, for goodness sake). I am now in a bright, airy room, looking out onto beautiful Amsterdam Avenue, and thinking about how happy I am. The more things change, I guess.

The book also made me want to be a lawyer, and made me not want to be one, at the same time. It was still very good, the second time around.