Jessica and I had one of the best dates last night, revisiting an activity that was a staple in the early years of our relationship: hanging out at a bookstore.
We love books. Going to a bookstore is like revisiting old friends. Revisiting ourselves, the way we were, and retracing what we’ve become. Stories dot our history and are woven into our memories, the fabric of which is a layering of relationships, events, places, sights, smells, tastes, sensations, sounds, and feelings, but also books, plays, movies, music, and all forms of art.
Our life is part Puccini, Rachmaninov, Debussy and Chopin, and also Picasso, Dalí and Monet, as well as Alan Paton, Ray Bradbury and Louisa May Alcott, but also Baz Lurhman’s Moulin Rouge, The Mission, Schindler’s List, and French Kiss, among so many others.
Bookstore dates are also about discovering new stories, new paths to journey on, and all the exciting possibilities of wonder and growth that they bring.
I forgot how deep of an experience bookstore dates are. I love that Jessica and I got to connect that way again.
And bookstore dates are cheap. Last night would have been free, but we ended up each bringing one new story home. They will soon be worked into our timeline, to remind us later of who we are today.