Weasels

by Sofia

Clara Khudaverdian, my classical social theory professor, says that the thing that will make you most happy is the one that you fear the most. I have the sneaking suspicion that my confusion and being conflicted about so much and so many fundamental questions is a way to keep me from engaging the things I apprehend.

Last night I read Annie Dillard’s “Living Like Weasels” again for the first time in a long while. It reminded me why I was so in love with literature and why I was convinced I would major in it. I realized that my bookshelves were where I acquired my sense of style and my deep appreciation for beauty; when one drinks deep the poetry of language, one seeks the poetry of life.

I miss my books, the companions of my soul. I must not forget to cultivate this part of who I am, lest I let dry, confused, so-called realism convince me of its myopia.

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