My younger brother and I watched an episode of Family Guy not too long ago, one of those chaotic ones where Peter Griffin says the most ridiculous, oddly profound things. Every episode is chaotic anyway. But, in this particular episode, he looks a man dead in the eye and tells him, “You talk like a book.” We laughed about it then, not knowing those four words would boomerang back to me in the sweetest, most unexpected way.
Fast forward to yesterday, about 8pm, my brothers and I wandered into a deep conversation about society, politics and all the messiness in between. Trust me, our voices had gotten louder because everyone of us believed that we were making the most brilliant point in the world. My younger brother, the same one who watched the episode with me, went quiet at some point, just sat there staring at me with this strangely intense concentration.
Then, right in the middle of my argument with my other brother, he suddenly cuts in, and with the most dramatic seriousness says, “You talk like a book.”
I swear I blushed. Like actually blushed. Sure, the line wasn’t originally his, it belonged to an animated man with a big chin and zero self-awareness but hearing it directed at me? That was honestly one of the best compliments anyone has ever given me. I mean being able to talk like a book is a joy, a privilege and a beautiful superpower.
Books have saved me in more ways than people ever have. They’ve held me, taught me, expanded me, healed me. They’ve been worlds when the real world felt too small, too harsh, or too confusing. So if someone tells me I talk like a book, all I hear is, you speak with depth, you carry worlds inside you or you’re made of stories and meaning and thought. And from the depths of my heart, that’s the highest praise I could ever hope for.
If I must be anything in this lifetime, let me talk like a book. Let me think like a chapter. Let me feel like poetry. Let me live like a story worth reading.