I open the plastic storage bin in search of a specific journal that I've used in the past to record notes and thoughts about a particular self-help book.
And there they all are.
I've had to move them because we turned what was the guest room/my studio into the baby's room. My studio is now down in our finished basement. And I haven't taken the time to pull out and shelve my self-help book collection in the new space.
Until I look at them in their bin this evening, I had forgotten how many self-help books that I actually own.
Holy buckets, Batman.
That's a whole lot of advice from a whole bunch of experts staring me in the face from inside that bin.
That's a whole lotta books.
Books rife with meditations and affirmations. Buddhist books. Art therapy guides. Zen books. Writing therapy guides. Mystical books. Practical self-help books filled with strategies that I can easily incorporate into my everyday life!
Authors who promise they'll take me on the wonderful journey to becoming the thin, healthy, professionally fulfilled, sexy, happy human being that they know I can be!
Many of my self-help collection have illustrations. Others have accompanying workbooks or spaces within for me to write and journal. Still others allow me to create my own illustrations or add my own artistic touches.
So many tomes devoted to guiding me through multiple exercises that will lead me through the pain through the suffering through my past and my present to get to the healing and to discover my ultimate truth!!!
I've read them all. I've worked through them all.
Here I am.
Forty-three years old and not quite where I would like to be in my life.
Still looking to yet another new self-help book for some guidance and inspiration.
Maybe I just haven't connected with the right book yet?
How many self-help books are too many?