2 April 2007

Notes in books

Filed under: Books,Ponderings

Sometimes, when I am lonely, feeling down or poor of spirit, I will search through my library for notes I leave in books.

I know not why I do this, or if I am even conscious of doing so, only that I do and that they are there, waiting for me. Their contents are varied; from expressions of love from my dearest, to itineraries from long past voyages, to calling cards of jobs I’ve almost forgotten that I ever did.

They remind me of my past; of where I’ve been and who I was when I was there last on that page. Be it a story of seven century-old knights or schematics on nuclear power, I always know that in some page there will be a piece of myself from an age gone by.

In them I see myself as a young man, bristling with anticipation of a new job, which at the time seemed new and exiting, and now looking back reeks of past inadequacies and even perhaps outright failure.

In them I see myself preparing for a journey, of which the outcome is unknown, which at the the time seemed new and exiting, and now molders in the experiences collected since.

In a way, they could be more interesting than the books which contain them, as they are of a subject which is more dear to me than anything, myself.

They show me a slice of who I was at that time, and perhaps give clues of who I shall be in the future. A personal time capsule, as it were.

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