I woke up the morning after the election in a bed littered with wrappers from Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups and tissues with a still half full glass of red wine sitting on my bedside table next to a copy of the only book I could fathom trying to read through last night’s tears: A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
I don’t have many books in my apartment. I brought a few with me, and had Mister BS mail me a box with a few more, but there wasn’t a huge selection for me to dig through last night, and none of the books I’d checked out from the library held any appeal.
I didn’t have my worn paperback of A Little Princess, and had to download it on my Kindle.
It’s hokey as hell. Sara Crewe is grossly perfect, even if she is “not quite pretty.” But I read that book over and over as a child. I even remember my mom letting a seven-year-old me stay home to read it. My first mental health day.
I don’t get a mental health day today.
My moral compass was formed by that book. It taught me to value kindness.
The world could use more kindness today.
“If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that–warm things, kind things, sweet things–help and comfort and laughter–and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.”
I woke up this morning wanting the magic to be real.
“…the Magic has come and done it, Becky, while we were asleep—the Magic that won’t let those worst things ever quite happen.”
And it’s not. So I’m going out there to keep fighting, to let all my Black, Muslim, Latinx, and LGBTQIA friends and neighbors know that I love and support them. Because that’s all I can do.
I want to come home and read a good book that will give me hope. What are your favorite comfort reads?
PS— If you’re looking for some good picture books, check out my 2016 favorites in this guest post.