At church on Sunday, someone mentioned in a talk "unwanted addictions." Which got me to thinking about whether there are wanted addictions. And of course, books immediately came to mind. I don't just adore reading, I adore the books themselves. The shape and heft of them, the scent of old paper, the patina on a particularly old cover, the beauty of them on the shelf. An entire bookcase is like a patchwork quilt, bringing warmth and personality into a room. The act of reading itself is an integral part of it all, of course, but just being around books makes me happy.
I also feel intensely -- though I'm not sure it's an addiction quite yet -- toward wood. Running my hand along the smooth, satin surface of an antique table. The smell of fresh-cut pine. The feel of it under my hands as I sand and stain and varnish, buffing to bring out the glow. I like the solidity and earthiness and authenticity of wood furniture. I want to learn more about woodworking, and watching someone use a lathe is as fascinating as watching a pottery wheel, as a shape rises out of nowhere. The soul of the wood being revealed.
So yes. Some addictions are very much wanted. Life would be a dimmer thing without them.
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