The Melancholy of a Bookstore Day Trip for a Wayward Writer

How can you be sad when you’re surrounded by thousands of books? Yet I was.

Photo by Sid Saxena on Unsplash

Yesterday I wandered through a nearby Barnes & Noble. It was a simple thing, mostly just browsing to see what new books were on the shelves, but something crept upon me as I walked past hundreds of books, many of which had been published within the last few years.

I picked up various hardcovers to skim over the book blurbs inside the dust jackets. Some drew me in — at least enough for me to add the books in my Goodreads app — but I wasn’t in the mood for buying. Taking in the beautiful covers and the inventive titles, I felt a hollowness begin to carve itself into my chest.

My fingertips drifted over dozens of spines, and a sense of listlessness shrouded my brain.

Didn’t you think your name would be found here someday?

I tried to shake off the feeling with more browsing.

Didn’t you say you’d already be an author? You’re not getting any younger.

I closed my eyes, shuttering the images of the books that seemed hellbent on haunting me.

My mind was doing a great job of guilt-tripping me.