Growing up, I was not much of a bookworm. I spent my time outside running wild. Books and reading were of little interest to me. I enjoyed school and I did what I needed to do to get good grades, but as soon as I was done, Poof! I was outta there.

Once I hit college I had to read endless amounts of textbooks for my degree. I was interested in what I was learning, but once I was done with my studies, the last thing I wanted to do was curl up with a good book.

It wasn’t until I was a new mom that I really got into reading for pleasure. One of my favorite, most recent memories is of the summer my daughter and I moved into our own place. She was a year and a half and still took naps. We’d start our day with a wagon ride to the pool. A few splashes there and then we’d wheel back home for lunch. A stroller ride to lull her to sleep, and then after artfully transitioning her to bed, I would make my way to the balcony where I would enjoy a cocktail while reading my summer novels for a couple of hours. I was still teaching, so I had summers off. This was our daily routine, and I loved it.

I would be transported to another time, another place, another life. It was so easy to get lost in those books. I enjoyed those days, but that was just the beginning of a very physically and emotionally exhausting period of my life: single-motherhood.

I remember when I was a child and I’d be running through the house until I saw my mom lying on the couch, with one arm resting across her forehead, and a romance novel in her other hand. I would quickly slow down to quietly pass her by, hopefully undisturbed. I had enough intuition to know that was her time, her escape, her need in that moment. I knew then, but now I get it. I often wonder if she was actually reading, or if the book was more of a warning sign for us to leave her alone.

This past weekend was the unofficial start to summer, and although I don’t have summers off anymore, I don’t want to stop diving into beach reads. I prefer to borrow books than buy them, but with the libraries being closed because of Covid-19, I caved and bought both a paperback and an online copy of new summer must-reads.

That first summer of reading and this one are very similar in that I needed an escape. I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling the need to be transported to another place and time, somewhere far removed from the current state of affairs. Finding the right book can be such a cure. To passersby, I’m just lazing in my hammock in my backyard, but I’m really in some imaginary beach house on Nantucket observing the heroine figure out her love life amidst all of her naive mistakes.

My daughter came to me yesterday to tell me her favorite things about living in our new home. One is our nighttime routine of cuddling while I read to her. Although we’ve done that everywhere we’ve lived, it is heartwarming to know she values those moments. I hope that I’ve instilled the desire to read, not just to develop the skill, but as a way of opening her mind to the possibilities that reading can provide. When we read we are not just peeking in on the lives of the characters, but we’re getting insight into the author’s experiences, opinions, thoughts, and ideas, which we can then draw upon to create our own real experiences. But I suppose I’m preaching to the choir with that gem!

I think our imaginations are naturally stronger as children. So if reading helps us to grow our imagination, it is also serves as a juvenescent elixir! How about that connection! Or am I just reading into things?

What books helped you to grow your imagination and feel youthful?