Water for Elephants

I didn't know it when I began reading Water for Elephants, but I had a ton of hangups when I turned the first page of the book I chose from your recommendations.

And, those hangups had everything to do with this blog post.

My husband came to me when I was about one-third of the way into the book, curled up in a chair reading, and asked me, "What do you think so far?"

My response was something like this: "I think my blog readers might not like that there is a circus side show with a stripper and that there's drinking and that...."

He interrupted me, "I didn't ask you what your blog readers might think. I asked you what you think."

And, I realized at that moment that I cared too much what you all might think of the book, and wasn't forming my own opinion.

So, when I began reading Water for Elephants, all hangup-laden and overanalyzing, I was crippled. I simply was not allowing myself to think my own thoughts.

I was trying to guess yours.

But, after that conversation with my husband, I forgot about you. I allowed myself to get lost in the story. I let go of this blog and this silly review.

I let myself freely enjoy reading the story.

And, I absolutely loved it - reading just for the enjoyment of reading, the hours I spent curled up in my favorite leather chair at night, and the story that captivated me from the second page on.

I loved the conflict and the characters and I was fascinated by the early 20th century circus culture. I loved that I was hooked, that I had to use toothpicks to keep my eyes open at night to read "just one more page", and that when I finished, I wanted to read more.

There were some things that made me a bit uncomfortable - two scenes in particular. But, when I finished the book, they didn't matter to me. I can't really remember them in detail now.

So, as I took a leap into the world of reading for pleasure, I learned something about myself.

I need to read for me.

If I'm going to learn to love reading, which I so desperately want to do, then I need to not feel the pressure of a book review.

Or of an imaginary blog audience peering over my shoulder.

I'm going to keep reading. I'm reading a new book now - and I am lost, again. This time in Bahrain, Iraq.

Maybe I'll share it with you when I finish.

Then again, maybe I won't.