“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies?”
– Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
How many times do you find yourself reading a book you’ve already read? …again? And if that happens a lot, what do you think you’re gonna find when doing that? What did you miss the last times you held those same pages in your hand in an awkward deja vú?
And is that madness? Or is it madness just to see life as it is, and not as it should be?
It’s madness. Reading is madness. Reading the same book again is also madness. But would you care about it if I told you that every time you read a book it’s a new reading even if it’s the same book? Or do you know that already? I think you do.
The thing is, we crave different things at different moments in our lives. The book you’re reading at this moment might not make sense now, but it will in ten years.
The first time I read Dom Quixote I thought, That’s amazing! I wanna write like that. The second time I’ve read it, I was more like, F—, I’m that guy. I see and live things like him. I’m mad. And now, I don’t know what I want nor what I’m going to find but I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of things that weren’t important the last times I’ve read it, and my thoughts are gonna be different again.
Does it make sense to you? Tell me it does. Tell me it’s not madness. You’re a reader, too.
What are you reading and if that’s a reread, what do you expect to find in it that you didn’t see the first time?
I’m gonna reread Dom Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes. I’m starting the first volume today.