When I was in college, I had a roommate who lived for self-help books. She should devour every single one she bought. My roommate would have a bad day, or stand at some inevitable crossroad in her life, and head straight to Barnes and Noble and buy a self-help book. Loving Yourself, Saying Yes to You, Being Comfortable in Your Own Skin, Promoting and Keeping Healthy Relationships..most of these titles featured some extremely confident looking person on the cover. They would smile back at her with arms folded across their chests like a bunch of genies ready to make all her wishes come true. These authors had always been on the brink of something - homelessness, suicide, bad relationships - and now here they were on the cover of their NY Times Best-Selling Book ready to tell US how to CHANGE OUR lives for the BETTER. My roommate would read these books and then in a few days be back to her old self. She looked so convincing that I began to think these books would help me. After all, they've helped thousands, perhaps millions, of other people. My roommate was more than happy to lend me her books, completely convinced that I would find the same solace she did.
So I read them.
And I got nothing. Absolutely nothing? Are you sure? the books asked me. Maybe you are reading too fast. Read again and focus on us and only us.
So I read them. Again.
And I got nothing. Again. The books sighed, obviously angry with me and demanded to go back to my roommate's shelf, where they can sit with her Biology textbooks and the other self-help books and talk about me behind my back. What is wrong with her? the books whispered. She doesn't get us. We can't help her.
Those self-help books were right: they couldn't help me. Just like everyone has a different type of learning (you could be audio or visual or written, depending on the subject), everyone has a different way of figuring out how they fit into the grand scheme of things.
And, as you will read, I am a very slow learner.
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