Browsing in a used bookstore the other day, my (hopefully) erstwhile problem with book hoarding and my position on the slow climb to recovery were brought into sharp relief. I did not succumb. I didn’t buy a single book.
I saw quite clearly how my ridiculous hoarding problem had manifested itself, and I wondered why I would ever have bought books when I already had so many still to read. But it was hard getting over some of these deeply ingrained habits. I looked for a book of Dashiell Hammet’s short stories, and probably would have bought this if they’d had it, but they didn’t. But I saw some things I wanted enough that previously I would have bought them: a biography of Nathaniel West, some P.G. Wodehouse novels, Trilby by George du Maurier, Isaac Asimov’s Foundation.
In the past I would have bought these without hesitation because I knew I would want to read them in the future or near future, because they caught my fancy, and because apparently I enjoyed adding to my monstrous library. But this time I paused and listened to my new fear of having too much stuff. I asked myself if I planned to read the book right away or maybe next in line. And if the answer was no, as it was each time, I said to myself, “when I want to read it, I’ll buy the book; it’s not like I won’t be able to find a copy then.” This seems so simple and obvious, but I assure you: it represents a huge change from my previous era of out of control book hoarding.
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