The other day I was wandering about the library.
My library employs several shelves for the express purpose of displaying books. These shelves are meant to tantalize you and also to show the incredibly large selection of reading material the library offers on every subject.
I was browsing one of these shelves, wishing I had the time to read the book on cooking with onions, the history of women's footwear, and the book about hiking with small children (do I have small children? no, I do not). I stood in front of that shelf dreaming of having the time to read those books but remembering the two and a half shelves of books in my room waiting to be read and my goodreads to-read list stuffed full and the list I keep in my head of books I'd like to pick up when I've got a little extra time.
I realized that I will never be able to read all the books I want to. And then I felt terribly betrayed.
I've always known there would never be enough time for all the things I wish there were time for. I will never be a master carpenter, a master cook, a master seamstress, a master musician, and a master of everything else that I've taken a fancy to over the years. I don't have the time to even have a small sort of skill in all these areas.
In the same way I knew I'd never be able to read all the books I'd like to.
Knowing is not the same as believing.
Standing in front of that shelf I finally understood what I thought I already knew. My library promises me everything but everything is not a true possibility.
Simply put, I cannot do it. For the first time in my life ever, I knew beyond a doubt that even if I poured all my energies and attention into a single purpose, I could not possibly succeed.
The betrayal I felt was not bitter. Just very sad.
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