My Year With Eleanor.

I have created a cycle of reading that I love.

Began with a Brentwood library card and ended with me picking up a new book the day I finish the old.

I am embarrassed to say that I went for a LONG time without reading. I definitely felt a little empty and intellectually stifled. Going from Berkeley and absurd amounts of reading to only looking at words and pictures on a computer screen became old quickly. I missed it.

My newest read was a fun one. Perfect for my trips to Peets, tuna sandwiches on my lunch breaks, and the confusing period of time that most twentysomethings find themselves in.

My Year With Eleanor.

The author, a late twentysomething that loses her job, takes a step back, and realizes that she has been going through life motions without actually doing any actual living.

Losing a job became the perfect opportunity to self reflect and build momentum to a struggling personal life and lack of internal satisfaction. Losing what seemed to be most important actually highlighted what should have come first all along. It's ironic how loss can do that.

Her intense fears (from death, to social situations, parties, karaoke, to finding another career) crippled her daily interactions and overall take on the world, her loved ones, and her ability to act courageously and spontaneously. She lost her spunk. Her pizazz. What made her unique and special.

While my fears parallel some of the authors, from being a ridiculously bad dancer to having hesitations about jumping out of a plane, I definitely couldn't relate to the depth and enormity of her trepidations. While the book reminded me that I am FAR from having fear overwhelm my life, it instead, emphasized my own insecurities and the things I would love to overcome, stare in the face, and kick into oblivion.

At the end of a stand up comedy routine the author performed amazingly well despite irrational fear, insecurity, and hesitation (she even admitted she'd sell all of her families possessions before going on stage), she wrote about the insane glow of happiness that flooded her once the bit was over. The surreal high, the intense relief, and the giddy joy of knowing that she had knocked her demon out of the ballpark.

She wished she could pack a bag, slow time down, set up camp, and live in that insane, brief moment forever.

That hit home. I want those moments and I want them to be good.

Good enough that setting up camp, hanging on tight, and not wanting to let go of that blip of time makes perfect sense.