Someone once told me that we don't find books, books find us. I just finished reading "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls. If you want a great book (it's a wonderful memoir) to take along with you to the beach - look no further - I loved every word.

A year has passed since the loss of my brother. A lot has changed in my life, but there's not been a day I haven't thought about him - or dreamed of times we shared; and times we'll share together some day.

While I was reading "The Glass Castle", I found the following passage she wrote shortly after her father passed away. I think I read and re-read every word several times; I could relate - completely. I think this one paragraph, less than ten sentences, sums up my feelings over the past year.

"In the months that followed, I found myself always wanting to be somewhere other than where I was. If I was at work, I'd wish I were at home. If I was in the apartment, I couldn't wait to get out of it. If a taxi I had hailed was stuck in traffic for over a minute, I got out and walked. I felt best when I was on the move, going someplace rather than being there. I took up ice-skating. I rose early in the morning and made my way through the quiet, dawn-lit streets to the rink, where I laced up my skates so tightly my feet throbbed. I welcomed the numbing cold and even the jolt of my falls on the hard, wet ice. The fast-paced, repetitive maneuvers distracted me, and sometimes I went back at night to skate again, returning home only when it was late and I was exhausted. It took me a while to realize that just being on the move wasn't enough; that I needed to reconsider everything."

Listening to: In the Summertime - Roger Miller

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