Bring on the Books
Permission to nerd out
I love independent bookstores, and I’m not at all casual about it.
Go on my google maps and you’ll find pins of all the bookshops I’ve visited on my travels.
On a recent trip to England with my dad, I pulled him into multiple bookstores a day in each city we visited. He was game, giving me space to do my thing.
But after a few stops he asked me, “What are you looking for when you go into these bookstores?”
The question got me thinking. Because I’m not really looking for anything. I’m simply being.
I adore the feeling of being in a bookstore.
Some people go to the forest to be among the trees, I told my dad. It’s called forest bathing. There are health benefits to simply being out there, immersed in the sensory environment.
That’s what it feels like when I visit a bookstore. I’m bookstore bathing.
I like to be among the books. To spin around and be surrounded by colorful spines and shelves of genres and volumes of ideas and words and perspectives that were synthesized into little bound treasures.
I like the smell of the crisp pages. Hearing the quiet chatter of the people around me, recounting a recent read to a friend. I like to hunt for my favorite sections (contemporary romance, books about neurodivergence, pie cookbooks, and books on the practice of writing) and run my hand over the smooth covers.
I do all of the weird things we do in bookstores. I browse the staff recommendations and mentally check off which titles I’ve read. I walk with my head tilted to the right. I squat down and waddle along the shelves.
I told my client Pete about all of this when he asked about the highlights of my England trip a couple of months ago. I described it as “bookstore bathing” and laughed at my own nerdiness as I explained it to him.
“Well, books are really trees,” he responded. It kind of blew my mind.
Pete didn’t laugh at my nerdiness. I didn’t have to downplay it for him.
I’m so used to downplaying my deep interests, because while they make me, me, they can also be a liability. Several times in my youth, when I was effusive about my interests and passions, I was given the message: "Too much. Dial it down." I learned that the rule is: It’s fine to like something, but it’s weird to like something too much.
I’m not sure how much I should admit to you that I’ve listened to Bon Iver’s new album, or whether I should be honest about the deep dive I did on the Elizabeth Holmes/Theranos scandal, or the NXIVM cult, or Benjamin Gibbard’s music. I’m not sure if I should say how many contemporary romance novels I’ve read since 2020, or how much time I’ve spent curating books for my Little Free Library, or how many pies I’ve baked to learn how to get my crust just right, or how this summer I completed my quest to visit every single bookstore in my home state. Because it’s all a lot.
But screw it. I’m not interested anymore in downplaying my interests. I’m not worried about being a weirdo.
I’ve given myself permission to go all in. To nerd out about the things I'm a nerd for. To run towards my deep interests. To truly and openly enjoy the things I enjoy. To celebrate the things that make me, me.
It feels like a revelation, but it’s so simple: give yourself permission to love the things you love, wholeheartedly.
Your turn
What are you a nerd for? What could you talk and talk and talk about?
