Any time we’re growing, it literally hurts. There has to be a cutoff point where you’re like, stop driving yourself crazy.Regina Slusher, a.k.a. my mom
My mom has talked me down off so many cliffs. In fact, I sort of picture her permanently in residence near the edge, sitting in a lawn chair, maybe reading one of the books she enjoys (aside from The Bible, she loves Amish romances and true-crime stories) and sipping from a bottle of Lipton Green Tea. She waits there patiently near the abyss while from time to time, sometimes more than once a day, I zoom through like the Roadrunner to eagerly embrace my doom.
Because of her, I’m more stable than I used to be. Let’s just admit it: Life leaves none of us unscarred. Having someone who can console you while also telling you to get your sh*t together (without actually saying that because my mother doesn’t swear *ever*) is one of life’s greatest gifts. It doesn’t escape me how incredibly blessed I am to have her in my life, even though she probably thinks she annoys me most of the time.
And I’m going to be honest, sometimes she does. But that’s only because I much prefer the uncharted path, the one that I choose for myself. And I discover every time that she was right, that I should have taken her advice, listened to her counsel, learned from her mistakes. But, my dear reader-friends, I’ve learned one time-tested and incontrovertible truth: There’s nothing quite like a scar to keep you from running barefoot through the brambles again.
Thanks for everything, mom. I promise I do try to listen to you.
Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or catch me on Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.