Of one joy in my life I am certain.
I remember the exact moment I learned to read.
It was a weekday evening and my dad and I were sitting side by side on the itchy avocado-green plaid loveseat in the family room, with my Dick and Jane reader open on my knees. And as I was sitting there sounding out the words for my dad, all of the sudden it was like an actual physical "click" occurred. Sounds became words and words became sentences, sentence after sentence flowed...
And just like that I was hooked. I was head over heels in love with reading. It felt like magic.
And it's not only the act of reading that I find so joyful but the actual book itself. The turning of a page, the smell, the texture of thick paper, the weight of it in your hand, the sound of a hardcover book being set on a table. Cover artwork, whoever said, "Don't judge a book by it's cover.", certainly wasn't a true lover of books.
And then there's the anticipation of starting something new and the satisfaction of finishing (or disatisfaction of finishing if you don't want the book to end).
Books are friends in the truest sense. They don't often let you down and if they do they can be easily forgiven. They can entertain, enlighten, teach, and comfort. Not to mention, make you cry, scare you, thrill you, let you be someone else for an hour or live somewhere exotic.
I cannot imagine my life without books. They are such an integral part of me that I'm sure I would begin to perish if I had to go too long without.
And for this simple pleasure and joy I am forever grateful.