Last night I couldn't stop thinking about this book that I saw at a coffee shop in Eastport across from my Pilates studio. It was bugging me so much that I couldn't remember what it was called, so I stalked their Instagram to see if I could find the book in the background of any of their pictures.
This morning I accidentally left for my class a whole half hour early, which I took as a sign to go into the coffee shop before my class and look at the book again. It's one of those big, beautiful, yummy coffee table books with a letter-pressed cover. And as much as I attempted to make a mental note yesterday of the title of the book. It was completely lost to me within hours.
I went into the store under the guise of buying this homemade Pop-Tart that I also spied yesterday. I wasn't sure I was going to buy the book because, judging by its size, I'm sure it also carried a hefty price tag. So while I was waiting for the woman to ring me up for this beautiful little pastry, I took a quick peek to see if the book was still there.
I don't know why I felt funny looking at the price or thumbing through it to make sure that it was something I really wanted to own. Neither one of the women at the shop was the one, so I wouldn't be offending them. But still I took my time looking through it. The guide to becoming alive - flamingo estate. The color of the book cloth, the beautifully letterpressed sans-serif somewhat ' 80s-inspired type, and incredible photography were probably enough to get my hard-earned dollars, but there was also this nudging intuitive voice saying, “you must own this.”
I gently placed the heavy prize on the counter and took my treasure back to one of the little tables with the gorgeous yellow dalias in the center to start browsing through my purchase.
Just reviewing the table of contents. I knew that I had made the right call.
With chapters like Architecting the House of Radical Pleasure, work like Wisteria, and Find Your Banana, I was among my people.
There's a funny thing that happens, or at least it happens to me, when I pick up something like this: I get radically creatively triggered.
As I began reading the intro, I found myself scribbling inspired thoughts in the margins and drawing little visions that the author's words were creating in my head.
I used to think books were just for reading, but after becoming a disciple of Ryan Holiday, I realized they're meant to be used. A good book is worn and has underlying bits and notes in the margins. A good book isn't just read; it's studied. And referenced. And annotated. What good is just reading a book if you're not ingesting it and bringing its teachings into your being? A good book becomes part of you.
I only had 15 minutes before my class started across the street, but before I had my feet and straps, I made those next 15 minutes as slow as possible while I pored over the intro and nibbled on the raspberry Pop-Tart.
As I was about ready to leave, the owner came by my table with a knowing smile. “That one's really special l,” she said. “It's one of those books that you just pick up and read what you've opened to, like a message for the day.”
I'm sure future writings will be filled with quotes and musings on what comes up for me as I go through it, but what's exciting me so much about this right now is the anticipation of the joy of meeting someone new and getting a peek inside their brain and thoughts on things like relishing slow moments, creating joy, and discovering what finding your banana means.