What If We’re All Just Characters in a Book?
My Kindle is my most prized device and my most underused.
There used to be a time I would devour books by the dozen. Voracious. Unrelenting. A book monster, if you will.
These were simpler times before social media and shiny apps would nuke my attention span and turn me into a mindless zombie. Back in those days, when I wanted drama, I read a novel.
And I had this experience on the plane last week that tickled me to no end.
Because flying sucks (It does) I often try to load up on things to help me pass the time during the trip. In-flight entertainment isn’t always a guaranteed hit, so I’d usually load up an iPad with YouTube videos and TV shows…
…and never watch them.
The stress of it all would get to me upon takeoff, and I’d always just pull out my Kindle instead and settle into a delightful book. Books are like blockbuster movies where you're the studio funding the film — they can be as bombastic as your imagination will allow. And while I was thumbing through my library looking for something to get into, I saw a book I had bought years ago in a rush of nostalgia, and I smiled and opened it up.
Some context here.
