My parent's house is filled with books. There is not a single room in that home that doesn't have books. It was such a regular part of my childhood that upon entering a friend's house I was filled with a sense of unease. It was half way into my visit before I realized that there was not a single book in sight. If you walk into my living room right now you'd find: two books and a notebook on the couch, four library books stacked on the dining table, a bookcase filled with cookbooks, a stack of magazines and one lonely paperback on the coffee table, and at least a half dozen books on the stairs waiting to go up. And this isn't where I keep my collection. I keep the majority of my books in the library. But like my parents, you can't find a room in the house where you don't find reading material.
I've been thinking about my passion recently. I want to find what makes me the happiest, what makes time fly. I want to figure out what I'm the most passionate about. Then I look around. And find myself surrounded by books. I realize that one of the things that bothers me the most about my job is that I'm not working with books regularly. I notice that I'm donating my time at the library. And that when I enter a library, a bookshop, or someone's personal library, time seems to slow down. I browse, running my fingers gently along the spines of books. I can spend hours glancing at titles, picking up books, copying quotes from books, collecting books, and of course reading books. I don't know about you, but that seems like the definition of a passion. I think I found it. My great passion is books. Now to find a way to make that my occupation.
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