The Humbling of a Snob
It was my first visit to the Friends of the Library book sale—the largest of its kind in Florida. I arrived early and saw people with empty boxes waiting in line. I bought two books, noting with the mild shock the rows of Danielle Steel books, as I didn’t read romances (feeling superior).
Soon after (I was sixty), passing an end shelf in a supermarket I saw books by Nora Roberts and slowing down for an unknown reason, I paused, read a title that appealed to me, and bought it.
By then I’d read every book by Anne Rivers Siddons, a number by Anita Shreve, and several by Tracy Chevalier, authors I enjoyed. But from that first Roberts’ romance I became a collector of Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, Diana Gabaldon, Luanne Rice, and was magnetically drawn to the red and black covers of Stephenie Meyer’s
The Twilight Saga
.
Ten years later I have periodically re-read my collection, continuing to be educated as well as entertained.
While my Kindle contains
The Arabian Nights
and
The Diary of Anais Nin Vol. 1
, and my bookshelf holds
Banker to the Poor
and
When the Rivers Run Dry
as well as
God Speaks
and other Meher Baba books, these didn’t require my humbling.
My realization is, “From early experiences, we may carry false views that, whether significant or insignificant, by unexpected grace transform into new understanding.”