Tragedy is the core of literature

The post title is borrowed from a quote by Cormac McCarthy: "The core of literature is the idea of tragedy...you don't really learn much from the good things that happen to you."

It's a common sentiment at this time of year, but I'll say it anyway: 2013 was nothing like I thought it would be. And not in a good way.

In just 12 months, I nearly lost my father to cancer, took some brave steps in confronting old demons, and became physically ill from depression and anxiety, resulting in withdrawing completely from grad school and facing a quarter-life crisis. Or, more to the point, a quarter-life faith crisis.

At least the good news is that I went through all of this with my boyfriend only an hour away, as opposed to 3,000 miles. He may have a clearer picture of the "real me" than I do.

And, like every year before this one, 2013 has been a year of acquiring new and awesome books. I have no doubts that 2014 will bring more of the same.

However, new books also bring sadness, as I realize more and more that few people treat the act of reading as I do. Reading, for many, is a hobby; something they do at the end of the day to relax, to escape on a vacation, to pass time in the waiting room at the doctor's office. It should come at no surprise at this point, but reading for me is, well, my life. I live in books. I breathe books. Every experience of my life that shaped me, positively or negatively, is chronicled somewhere in a book I wish I wrote, by an author I view as a kindred spirit. It's safe to assume that without books, I wouldn't be a person of any significant substance. I'd be more lost, confused, and directionless than a typical twenty-something is expected to be. So a piece of my heart always shatters when I hear a person say "I don't read." Good for them, I guess; they're just missing out on a deeper realm of human experience, is all. No big.

I think this is the reason I do alone time so well: because books are where my friends are found. From the literary heroes who shaped my childhood, and rocky descent to adolescence -- Matilda Wormwood, Harriet M. Welsch, Anne Shirley, Sara Crewe, Jane Eyre, Katniss Everdeen, the March sisters (especially Jo) -- to the brave women who mentor me with their memoirs -- Lauren Winner, Rachel Held Evans, Sarah Bessey, Addie Zierman, Jonalyn Fincher -- I am never really alone. Then again, I am aware that people in books are frozen in time, while the authors behind them are living, breathing entities who are in a constant state of character evolution, as I am. There's comfort in knowing that people in books can never disappoint. But it's the real-life disappointments, inflicted by people who often mean well, but don't always show it, that challenge me to grow. So while there's safety in books, there's no real growth if I am reading in a vacuum.

I don't intend to create a laundry list of improvements for 2014. That almost never works. To be blunt, a lot of shit happened in 2013. And as much as that sucks, my love of reading has shown me that stories don't really progress without varying degrees of tragedy. Adversity is just a fancy name for plot twists. And that is what will, I hope, one day make me a kindred spirit on someone else's book shelf.