Sometimes a book will find it’s way into my hands in such a bizarre and mysterious way that it’s hard not to believe that some higher force is at play. It’s almost like the Universe planned for me to find that particular book at that particular point in my life.
Last weekend I was standing in the gift shop at a hippie commune when I spotted a girl that looked like me (dirty blond hair and a long, narrow face). It was a girl in a painting. And she was holding a suitcase with the word “Adventure” written on it. And across the painting, in pink lettering, was one of my favorite quotes:
“The world is a book
And those who don’t travel
Read only one page.”
Although the painting was what first caught my eye, it was the book that was on display right below it that I ended up buying.
It was a book on writing a memoir.
For a long time I’ve entertained the idea of writing a memoir. But I’ve always shelved the idea, thinking that I’d wait until the day I was old and wise and had all of the answers. Or at the very least, some substantial message or bit of wisdom that I could depart to the world.
I also secretly worried that writing a memoir might seem a tad egotistical and self-indulgent. I mean, isn’t it bad enough that I write about myself on the Internet…do I really need to add a book, too?
But I was curious. So I opened the book and scanned the first page…and then very nearly gasped at what I read.
The book started off “When I was attending…” and then listed the name of my high school in New York. The author went on to to describe her walk home from school and detailed the neighborhood where she grew up, which was my same neighborhood. The author went to my old high school and lived on my same block! Granted, she’s at least 10 years older than I am and I’ve most likely never met her, it’s still an amazing coincidence.
As if that’s not enough, I also bought the store’s last copy. Crazy, huh?
Has a book ever magically appeared in your life like that before?