these boots were made for reading

Photo: Elle Italia

If i had to name one characteristic that I've always been certain my beloved would possess, it would be a voracious appetite for reading. He'd also be tall and hot, but i'm trying to exhibit substance. Stay with me. I've had a steady stream of images of myself and my faceless future huddled together under a blanket with our respective novels since I was too young to imagine more exciting things one could do under a blanket. If you'd asked me any time up until about 2.58 years ago, I probably would have said that not reading is kind of a deal breaker. Then I met M.

In the early days, I ignorantly gifted him a book before he left for a nightmarishly long flight. I knew he wasn't a reader per se, but when faced with 11 hours of monotonous cabin noise and mediocre films, I figured he'd be glad to have another diversion on hand. I underestimated his disinterest. He didn't even get to the charming note I'd crafted on page 12 to jokingly congratulate him on making it so deep into the plot. 

Not to brag, but I've read hundreds, maybe even thousands of books. There are few things I find more enjoyable than a good book. Or even a not so good book. Sometimes I read pamphlets at the dentist's office for periodontal procedures I don't need just because I like words. The fact that my new love interest couldn't even make it through one chapter of a Bill Bryson novel worried me. For about 30 seconds. Until I put it out of my soggy, smitten mind and focused on more important things. Like that I really, really liked this boy and ohmygod, isn't he SO cute?

Fast-forward two and a half years and the fact that he doesn't read (just to clarify, he CAN read, he just doesn't like to) hasn't really come up. The only time it becomes an issue at all is when I refuse to tear myself away from a book to do something else. Such as participate in the relationship. His not reading is shockingly irrelevant to our compatibility. So, deal breaker it was not. 

This seems to indicate that I'm not great at predicting what will make me happy. A not uncommon predicament, it turns out. We make assumptions and seek out the bearers of specific criteria on the basis of ideals. Ideals that frequently aren't even our own. Just things we've been socialized to believe will add up to the magic formula. Yet what ends up fulfilling our needs is often something else entirely. What an incredible relief.