People ask me a lot: Why books?
So I thought and thought and thought, and here’s what I came up with: I’m searching for meaning. All that means is that I want more than a “good” “education”, a “good” career, financial “security”, “nice” things, etc. etc. I could start whole arguments about all of those things I put in scare quotes because (to me) they represent the antithesis of meaning: a lack of substance, inquiry, and inspiration. What is good about schools that use fear to motivate students? Where is the education in a school system that forces all kids through a certain number of classes at the same pace with zero concern for retention or topics relevant to students lives? Why is a job doing a single thing for the rest of your life a good thing? What kind of a goal is “getting yours” if it comes at the expense of everyone who doesn’t “get theirs”? How is that security at all? Security against what? Does having any of these things lead to anything but momentary happiness? Why don’t they lead to deep and lasting happiness? What is deep and lasting happiness? Why is there so little of this kind of happiness in the world? How do I become deeply happy? Why are so many people depressed? Why do most adults behave like children? Why is everyone so afraid? What are they afraid of? What am I afraid of?
The brunt of television programming doesn’t even begin to answer these questions, and the same goes for just about any other form of media. Even the media that does attempt to answer these questions, well, it barely scratches the surface. In a half hour, competing with many other (more “exciting”) programs and also having to deal with the social moores of what is “ok” to broadcast and what is not, television shows just can’t do any of these questions justice. This is why I read books, because it’s the only place where meaning can be discussed with any seriousness at all.
Taking a line from Doris: Our culture has left a hole in all of us, what do you fill it with? Most people fill theirs with school, work, careers, money, TV, families, cars, yachts, and retirement plans. Some people fill theirs with alcohol, drugs, comedy, politics, and a million other obsessions. Depressed people fill theirs with nothing at all. I’m filling mine with meaning.
I can’t derive meaning from any of the things most people fill their holes with, and that makes me a very loney person sometimes. It’s the silent price I pay in a society that values only appearances. But I can derive meaning from books which also provide me with companionship. They help me recognize that I am not alone, that I am not the only one suffering, that it doesn’t have to be like this.
