I had an epiphany, though I’m not sure that’s truly the word for it, a few weeks ago and here it is:

Books are not perfect.

I realized that I’ve been operating through 28 years of life under the premise that books will make everything better, books bring knowledge, books equal intelligence, books are inherently good. Right. Right? Wrong.

Books, as wonderful a learning tool as they are, are as full of crud as any reality show, soap opera, or conversation overheard on the street. Books aren’t perfect and just because a person reads plenty of books doesn’t mean they are better than the average Joe. That’s the thing of my epiphany… I had falsely concluded that well-read individuals are somehow better than everyone else. Sinful thought, I know. But then it occurred to me – the majority of books I’ve read are either fairly poorly written or full of discouraging, dark concepts. Sad, but true. It is not often I read a book that really truly resonates with me or where I gain a profound, life-enriching concept from within its pages (though perhaps this only speaks to my choice of books).

Don’t get me wrong here. It’s good to read. Reading exercises the mind in a way that television never will, so whether one reads great books or just average ones, it’s still good to read. But, ya know, books aren’t perfect.

Or maybe you already knew that.