We were never organized readers who would see a book through to its end in any sory of logical order. We weave in and out of words like tourists on a hop-on, hop-off bus tour. Put a book down in the kitchen to go to the bathroom and you might return to find it gone, replaced by another of equal interest. We are indiscriminate.

There is no problem a library card can't solve.

We wear our names heavily. And though we have tried to escape their influence, they have seeped into us, and we find ourselves living their patterns again and again.

Self-care isn't selfish (it is a gift to all concerned). You can't serve from an empty vessel.

You may have lost your way more than a little bit, but I believe you can find your way back. That's the trick. Finding your way back.

The question to ask is what will satisfy you? What will bring you peace? And perhaps the answer to those is in asking yourself when you were last happy.

Our destiny is in the way we were born, in the way we were raised, in the sum of the three of us.