When I was a junior in high school, my mom read a book that changed my life, The Day I Became an Autodidact. You’ve probably never heard of it. I’m not even positive that’s the actual book. All I know is that in a conversation about how to finish my final year of high school included the word “autodidact” and, unknown to either of us, the term shaped my future.
I’ve mentioned a few times my unconventional education that includes plenty of formal, accredited learning but did not accrue the traditional diploma paperwork that most of my peers have hanging on their walls or stuffed in a box in their attic. In an attempt to make the most financially savvy decision my senior year of high school launched me into a journey of lifelong learning fueled by piles of library books, journals full of notes, and - for the past fifteen years - thousands of blog entries.
As I face my half-century of life in a few weeks, I needed to see in writing the books that have shaped the journey of growing up into myself. You probably won’t be able to see the shifting of the tectonic plates of my life represented in this list. I don’t see it as much as feel the movement, sometimes ground-shaking upheaval, shearing the foundation of my soul into an entirely new landscape. Most of the time, though, it’s a slow convergence of stories, philosophies, and histories spreading through the calendar of my days.
I know I’ve missed many titles and I’ll probably have to create addendums. One of the largest markers of my life, the years that almost 100% of my energy went to giving birth and keeping four children six and under alive, fed, and clothed, my reading life was shaped by endless re-reading of storybooks. Those years were so formational, they transcend reading lists. Around 2001, when my oldest child was ten and my youngest in preschool, I took up reading as if my life depended on it. In some ways, I think it did.
I don’t know yet how I’ll use this list beyond a kind of archive of learning. For now, making a list is a gift in itself.
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