Since I am revealing my true self, I must admit that I’ve never been much of a book reader—shocking, I know! I mean, who wants to get lost in a world of ink and paper when there’s a perfectly good sunlit playground waiting outside? Back in grade school, I remember those summer assignments that demanded we read 5 or whatever dull number of books. A real snooze-fest! While my friends were outside playing tag or zooming around on their bikes like little speed demons, I was stuck in a boring corner, trying to make sense of plots that seemed as far away as the moon. I’d sit there, flipping pages like I was training for the world’s worst flipping page competition, while the sun was doing its best to warm my skin and laughter from the playground taunted me in the background. Looking back, it’s clear that I was yearning for adventure—not the kind found between the covers of a book, but the good old-fashioned kind that comes with scraped knees and dodging the “it” kid!
In high school, in a required class to graduate, you had to read the classics, which often felt like a chore compared to my true passion. During that time, I was deeply interested in cars, spending hours watching races and reading automotive magazines. I lived and breathed hot rods, dreaming of the day I customized my own vehicle. The roar of an engine or the shine of a well-polished chassis ignited a sense of excitement in me that no book ever could. After school, I would rush home to tinker with engines and study the intricacies of car design, always imagining how I could improve the performance of each model that caught my eye. Ultimately, while I appreciated the literature, my heart was always revving in the world of automobiles, where creativity met engineering in thrilling ways.
I never could find the time to read, mostly because my brain has a sneaky habit of going on spontaneous vacation trips while I’m still trying to read the first sentence. I’d open a book, and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in thought about whether I should have cereal or toast for breakfast—definitely a pressing matter! The words would become a jumbled soup, all tangled up like headphones in my pocket, and I’d be left wondering if the plot twist was just my imagination or if I really had just read three pages about a cat named Mr. Whiskers. It felt like a never-ending treadmill of frustration, where the thrill of reading was overshadowed by my own thoughts throwing a wild party. As a result, books pulled a disappearing act on me, turning reading into a chore instead of the joyful adventure it was supposed to be!
I really hope this doesn’t mean I’m getting kicked out of paradise because, honestly, the idea of missing out on a place where everyone is perpetually chill and basks in love sounds downright terrifying—like a birthday party without cake! paradise has always felt like my personal comfort zone, and I can practically hear the angels singing “Rocky Mountain High” on repeat! If my choices have thrown a wrench in my heavenly travel plans, please, just hand me the divine customer service number so I can beg for another life on this earth and a second chance, because the vibe up there is my ultimate goal.
TomT2.0 