Returning to the Basics

When I find myself not knowing what to do in times of uncertainty, I start with what I have.

Photo by Hümâ H. Yardım on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking a lot about community lately. The chaos shouts at me, and I feel uncertain. And let’s be clear, like most people, I don’t like this uncertainty. I desperately want to feel more certain about something, anything other than the chaos. So I’ve been mulling this for a long time. Too long. So long that I’m left not knowing what to do.

When I find myself not knowing what to do, I start with what I have, exploring areas that seem routine because any foothold in comfort heps us—helps me—to venture further than I could without it. I want to build and nurture more compassionate community wherever I can in all of the chaos of our world right now. It’s easy to feel lost in the chaos. It’s easy to feel despair. But despair sometimes leads to disengagement, and that is definitely not what is needed right now.

So, I’m looking to the things I know by heart to guide me. What do I know better than most things: books. They might seem small and inconsequential, but they hold so much power; this I not only know, but feel with every fiber of my being.

My daughter, Eva Fraser, recently wrote an article, “Columbus’ 32-Room Bookstore Is a Book Lover’s Dream” for Midstory, a 501(c)(3) non-profit thinkhub that progresses the narrative of the Midwest by incubating bright, diverse, and interdisciplinary thinkers to exchange ideas and envision the future of our region through multimedia storytelling and solutions-oriented research. Her article delves into how an independent bookstore (The Book Loft in Columbus, Ohio) nurtures community of readers and writers in a way that online book sellers cannot.

The Book Loft is special. In her article, Eva explores how it has been a haven for both readers and local writers for decades. Yes. A haven. Books and real-life bookstores are havens where you can linger and learn.

As I read the article, I am transported to the 32-room bookstore. I’ve been there too many times to count. In fact, I introduced Eva to this bookstore when she was very young. So young that she clung to me as we walked the maze of rooms with map in hand (remember: 32 rooms). If I close my eyes, I can imagine her small fingers intertwined with mine on that first adventure there together. I can smell the books. I can feel the closeness of the shelves. I am comforted by that memory because it is not ephemeral. That moment lives on every time I contemplate another visit, every time I am inspired to read, every time I talk about writing or books with my daughter. Books provide a legacy of learning and understanding.

Sometimes people refer to books as an escape, and maybe they are to some extent, but they are also a tool; books build empathy, compassion, emotional intelligence, and belonging.

I have a lot of early childhood memories related to books. One of my earliest memories is of me sitting in my Holly Hobby cardboard house (life-size for a three- or four-year-old), cozy with a blanket, rocking chair, and a thick phone book on my lap, standing in for my “writing” journal. I couldn’t write, but I wanted to, and there were so many pages for me to tell my story in that phone book.

I have many memories of my dad reading to me before bed—all of the Wizard of Oz books. What a gift he gave to me at such an early age to look outside of myself, to put myself in someone else’s shoes, to imagine what it felt like to be in a different world, to be a different person, to have problems that weren’t my own but that I could relate to and imagine because I am human, because I allowed myself to feel the insecurity and uncertainty of someone else.

Later, I read on my own before bed. Who am I kidding? I read whenever I could crack a book open as soon as my homework was done. Yes, I was the kid who always had a book with me. During the summer, I rode my bike to the library so I could go down into the children’s section in the basement, browse the shelves, and find four or five books to take home. Sitting down there between the stacks in the air-conditioned cement-block basement, I tested them out before I checked them out. I had to make sure they were good before they took up space in my bookbag. We didn’t have air conditioning at home, so I stayed as long as I thought I could without being missed. I ran out of room for gold-star stickers on the summer reading log every summer.

I recognized books and stories and characters as my friends, as the relationships that allow you to feel seen and heard. As a doorway into a world I wanted to inhabit, or maybe as a place I was grateful I didn’t inhabit. Okay, maybe I didn’t recognize the depth of those relationships at the time; maybe I didn’t realize that what I was craving was a closeness I couldn’t find elsewhere, but I do now.

Books are always about relationships. Relationship with self. Relationship with the characters. Relationship with time. Relationship with our heritage. Relationship with story. Relationship with the author. And when you are building relationships, what do you do? You make an effort to give the relationship your attention. You suspend your disbelief. You allow yourself to be curious. You allow yourself to learn and feel, even when it is uncomfortable, even when it sometimes brings you to tears.

Numerous scientific research studies have examined how reading for pleasure—in particular, the genres of fiction, memoir, and personal essay—helps build empathy and emotional intelligence. And as a bonus, reading offers additional benefits, including reducing stress, changing behavior, building problem-solving skills, and developing the ability to make more creative decisions.

I think we could all use a boost in empathy, a reduction in stress, and some perspective that allows for better problem-solving and creative decision-making. It’s important, though, that we read books that enrich our understanding and take us out of our insular lives.

I talk to a lot of people about writing and books. After all, good writers are good readers for all of the reasons mentioned above (and so many more), but also because we need examples of good writing to show us what might be possible, to hone our voices, to enable us to extend ourselves beyond what we thought was the truth. However, there are so many wonderful, meaningful, and impactful books; it’s tough to know where to start if you are out of the habit of a daily reading practice. With that in mind, I would like to make some suggestions, and I am going to use February as Black History Month to narrow my focus.

I could give you a big, long list, but I think that would be overwhelming, at least it would be for me. Instead, I’m going to give you a short list of suggested books for February that cross genres and time. My list spans publication dates from 1937 to 2024, almost 100 years. I like reading multiple books at once because on any given day, we need different things from our books. I encourage you to try this practice if you haven’t already. Sometimes, you just don’t feel like reading a particular book, but you do feel like reading. So this is my solution. Afterall, these are relationships, right? Who do you want to spend time with today?

If you’ve already read some or all of these, I heartily recommend a reread! You will not have the same experience with these books as you did on your first read because you are not the same person as you were when you first read them. If you are new to these books, I’m so excited for you!

1. James: A Novel by Percival Everett, copyright 2024

2. All About Love: New Visions by Belle Hooks, copyright 1999

3. Beloved: A Novel by Toni Morrison, copyright 1987

4. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou, copyright 1969

5. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, copyright 1937

I’ve read all of these books, but it has been a while for half of them, so I think it is time for a re-read on my part. If you are restarting your reading habit, pick one or two of these to dive into this week. Go visit your local library or bookstore and soak in the goodness as you peruse the shelves. There is community waiting for you there. There is community waiting for you in the pages of these books.

Let’s nurture a community of broader understanding and perspective. Let’s be curious and open together so that we can bring empathy to our conversations even as chaos threatens to envelop us.