As someone who makes time to read books, at least six a year, I am always on the lookout for titles that I find relevant to whatever I am going through or what I want to become and improve at. So when a friend—who knows what kind of reader I am—recommends a title that’s not within the list I already have, or at least outside the genre I usually explore, I may take time considering the recommendation but will always end up liking it.
And today, I finally finished reading One Hundred Names by Cecilia Ahern and I am glad my friend gifted me the book. ❤️
Generosity gives birth to more generosity
Growing up, my dear friend Amira had opportunities to access and read many books (thanks to her aunt’s generosity). Because of their shared fondness for reading, my dear friend carried the habit forward today and even managed to curate her own library of physical books. Emphasis on the physical because she’s the only person I’ve met, at least someone around my age, who filled bookshelves with actual books.
She said that her childhood experience shaped how much she enjoyed reading. And throughout her lifetime, she had received, bought, and given books out of her desire to make other people happy, paying forward from what she had freely enjoyed in her youth. Seeing her collection also reminded me of a childhood fascination of owning a trove of information, before internet became a thing in households. She’s like a modern-day Belle in her own way.
So, when I visited her one fine day, and while admiring the titles she had intentionally acquired, she lent me—and eventually gave me—a softbound copy of One Hundred Names, which according to her, would inspire me and remind me why I write.
A slow turn
As I’ve said, I find it quite uneasy to shift my focus from a list of titles I’ve personally selected and to accommodate a book I haven’t considered reading for the year. At the same time, as an act of trust that my friend knows what she is doing, I created a pocket in my schedule to read at least one or two chapters within the week. And mind you, I have been trying to juggle from one book to another, as my work requires along with personal interests.
When my friend asked me how I was doing with the book, I told her that progress has been slow. And in admission, she noticed how I quickly devoured her previous book recommendations but still believes that I will end up liking this one, albeit slower. Maybe this would be the first time she had it wrong about what I’d like to read? To my defense, I felt like the character building was slow but the book is still something I’d like to finish especially when I’ve finally grasped what’s going on and want to know how things would end.
And today was extra special because I finally had the leisure to sit and read it. While I was into the final pages, I started to wonder when the last time I finished a fiction in its physical form was. Can you remember the last time you read a book, much less a physical copy of a book?
Stories that last are in the ordinary
So, my friend was right all along. It was a good read and I enjoyed it. Perhaps this one sentence from the book sums what the author wants to accomplish:
Every day people do things that are not celebrated.
from One Hundred Names by Cecilia Ahern
Reflecting on how the author demonstrates to the reader that beyond the stories we write and behind the stories we read are real people, just like you and me, I realized how often we dehumanize people in our stories and forget that we are all human.
And that we are the every day people.
Actually, that sentence reminded me about a recent read I had about the ordinary sacred. About how we seem to neglect the mundane just because they are so ordinary, and yet, without the ordinary, we’ll never get to the extraordinary.
The extraordinary has its place. But extraordinary things rest on ordinary foundations. Every scientific breakthrough depends on years of tedious lab work. Every revolution depends on countless conversations. Every cathedral was built stone by stone.
The ordinary is the condition of everything else.
The Ordinary Sacred
Life Doesn’t Happen in Highlights.
A culture obsessed with exceptionality risks forgetting how to live. The sacred is not hidden. It’s not far away. It’s in the groceries, the laundry, the conversations, the walks, the dinners.
Life is not waiting to begin. It is already here, in ordinary time.
The Ordinary Sacred
Life Doesn’t Happen in Highlights.
And so, even when there aren’t many things going on in my life right now, specifically this month or this week, I’m finding richness in this season of ordinary moments. Although the pseudo-productivity gospel and its evangelists may think otherwise.
jessa 