Booklorn

So far, I have packed four boxes of books, each box weighing 20 to 50 pounds. I anticipate filling another three or four boxes. That represents only a fraction of my library, but I am being picky. Complete Works of X takes priority over Selected Works; anthologies beat individual compositions; primary literature trumps secondary literature; and scholarly writing sweeps all else from the field. I want no dead weight on the shelves of my new home.

Oddly enough, leaving behind so many books is cathartic. It serves as yet another visible and reassuring sign of growing up; I can trace all of the volumes left on my bedroom shelves to specific earlier phases of my life. Many of these abandoned books will be useful to me again someday, but for now, most of them are barely even interesting as a distraction. I did not expect to find the separation so pleasing -- like losing baby teeth, getting a new backpack, or outgrowing a favorite shirt.