📍 London, UK, 7/14/23

Ever since I’ve had the luxury of it— of being able to take myself places in a car or on my own two feet— I’ve had this ritual when I’m feeling sad, of buying a coffee and walking for hours around my favorite bookstore.

Have you ever visited churches or cathedrals or temples and felt that sacred sort of peace saturating the air? I think bookstores have the same energy. So many words, so many stories, so much history and meaning, all crammed inside four walls.

Some of us worship gods, some of us worship art, and for some, they are one and the same.

Back in high school, when I finally got my driver’s license, I would take the highway at sunset to books-a-million and wander around until closing. In NYC, it was the Strand, and I binge-read every Coelho book in The Bean on 3rd avenue before it was moved. Now my favorite is the Waterstones at Piccadilly because it’s the biggest one in London, and I love that it takes hours to look through all the assorted tables and bookshelves. I love that it doesn’t even feel like time is slipping away.

I love literature and I love words and I love stories and I love how they make me feel. Through writing, I have navigated the maze back to my younger self— the 8-year-old that read a book every day and dreamed of being a writer and living deeply and feeling all there is to feel and having all the adventures that are possible to have.