Reread. Revisit. Return.

One of my high school teachers, Ms. Todd, told me this: you never reread the same book twice. The text may be the same, but the person reading it has changed. What you notice and what you experience changes with every reread, because you are returning to it with a different gaze.

Your perception has grown with your experience.

I’ve always loved this concept. As a reader, I reread books pretty frequently. As a writer, I designed The Ever Afters to be reread, so one of my favorite things to hear from readers is that they’re still rereading and finding new layers to enjoy. 

I received a bunch of those messages since the beginning of the pandemic—It seems like quite a few readers wanted to return to a familiar, fictional world they’d loved when they were young. That makes perfect sense, because the world we’re living in has grown messy. Very often, it’s also painful. Revisiting something familiar is a healthy reaction. (Also, if you’re stuck in your house, another healthy way to escape is begetting transported by an engrossing story, whether it’s a book or a TV show or something else.) 

Of course, you may not experience it in quite the same way. There’s a good reason for that. 

We are not the same, sweet ones. 

We may return to the same spot, but our perceptions has grown with our experience. 

I’ve had the opportunity to speak to a lot of strangers the past few months, and here’s what I’ve noticed: everyone I meet is in the thick of some sort of transformation. If that’s you, you’re not alone. 

Sometimes, such changes can overwhelm you. They can seem so vast that you’ll never see the other side. 

When I feel like that, it helps me to revisit something I’ve loved before. What SPECIFICALLY I revisit doesn’t matter too much. Sometimes, it’s a book. Sometimes, it’s actually a physical place. 

For example, these pictures are from the exact same spot—a lookout point at the Sea Lion Cave in Florence, the largest known sea cave on the Oregon coast and a reference for the fictional setting of my current work-in-progress.

But these photos were taken six years apart: 2015 and 2021.

The vantage point hasn’t changed much, as you can see.

Instead, I have changed. 

I may share the same body, but my perception has grown with my experience, which has been pretty much a wild ride in the last half decade or so. 

Since I’m not the same person, I’m also not the same writer. So, the novel I’m writing has shifted too—the plot is the same, but certain new flavors have shifted how I approach the telling of that particular story. 

Maybe this makes me strange, but I find this reassuring: it’s natural to become a different person than you were six years before. It would be much more uncomfortable to find out that I’d been through so much and realize that I hadn’t changed at all.

When I revisit a place, or reread a book, or return to something else I loved, those changes become obvious to me. I can reach back in time and remember my old self. I remember the situations I survived between then and now.

I remember all the ways I’ve grown, and then I consider: maybe I can grow through my current situation too, whatever that may be. 

The same can be true for you too. Whatever mess you’re in the middle of, you have grown through other messes, and you can grow through this one too. 

Take care, sweet ones. 

Originally posted 5/14/21.