Today I sold part of my soul

The real worth of books is the time spent with them

I could only bring myself to part with the ones I didn’t love, love, love, but I had to do it. We were just getting too many books around here. I had to let go of mostly children and young adult books that had done their job. So, after complimenting myself for purging our house of unused items, I schlepped two big, full boxes into Half Price Books.

The employees there must practice putting on a straight face because the woman didn’t even crack a smile or give me the slightest look of pity when she offered me $20 for all I had. What?! Didn’t she know that letting go of books has never been easy for me? Even though these weren’t my favorite books, some of them had helped my kids learn to read, and most were in good condition. I was insulted, of course, and wanted to ask if she was kidding. Instead, I took the money and acted very grown-up about the travesty.

Leaving the store a little wounded, I had to console myself. What was the real worth of those books anyway? Certainly more than $20, that’s for sure. I had to admit that the real worth of the books was in the time spent with them, the memories created by them, and the joy found in them. I guess those are things you just can’t put a price on. Even still, when I sold those books today, I sold part of my soul.