Pain is just a sign that you are alive and today I am alive.
It seems like only yesterday that a small group of women, unhappy in their work and sharing a passion for reading met in a small dark pub. We cozied up on the massive couches and split a few appetizers and drinks and discussed Reading Lolita in Tehran, one of the few nonfiction books I've ever truly enjoyed. I left that restaurant feeling renewed and revived, like there was a whole new joy in my life - and there was.
Bookclub quickly became my favorite day of the month, I would wait for it with bated breath and think about it constantly. Slowly, our members began to leave our place of employment, but we soldiered on, moving our meetings to each other's houses and adding new members, even a couple of guys.
And through the next five years, it grew into more than just talking about books and having a few drinks. It became a night of friendship and laughter and just being who I was. There was no pretension, no imagineering a new personality. I was simply me, doing my favorite thing - talking about books.
And now, my favorite day on the calendar has died a tragic death of disinterest. It's hard to take in and admit. Bookclub is gone. My evenings of fun and frivolity are gone. White wine and books I'd never read on my own are a thing of the past.
To my bookclub friends, I love you and will miss you. I hope that we may stay in touch because even though our love of literature brought us together, I believe that through the years we found more common ground that we could have ever imagined.
Bookclub, I love you. I miss you. You have graced my life more than you will ever know.