You Are What You Read

I sat in the terminal in Newark International Airport, waiting for my delayed flight. Just in case there was going to be another delay I had already gotten myself a nice dinner and a glass of wine; I wanted to be prepared. I was feeling rather calm. The delay was giving me an opportunity to get most of my theology reading done before we even boarded the plane. And with the yummy dinner I had enjoyed it didn't seem there was much that could have perturbed me. I was at peace, in the midst of a bustling airport, surrounded by lots of cell-phone talkers, coffee-drinkers, and cuddling couples.

Across from me was a middle-aged woman with anything-but-natural, overprocessed blond hair. She was reading what I would consider a crappy murder/mystery novel. The kind that is not written well and is full of vapidity. There's no real mystery to the murder, the protagonist is a nothing more than an attractive man and the detective might as well be investigating the next fashion trend for all the attention he gives. Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh though.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm as much of a fan of fun reading with little substance (beach reading) as the next person. But it isn't my whole life. What made me most sad was not that she was reading this book, but rather the empty look in her eyes when she would rest the book on her lap and look around the terminal and the flat sound of her voice when she answered the phone. I actually felt sorry for her.

I hope she reads more than just that book.