Lately I’ve been thinking about the books that shaped me, the ones that arrived at just the right moment, handing me exactly what I needed, whether it was courage, comfort, or a good hard laugh.
If I could sit down with all the younger versions of me — the wide-eyed kid clutching her library card, the awkward teen trying to disappear in the back row, the career-driven engineer who forgot fiction even existed — I know exactly how I’d start the conversation.
I wouldn’t give advice.
I wouldn’t offer warnings.
I’d just hand each of them a book.
Here’s what I’d give, and why.
Dear 7-Year-Old Anni: You’re braver than you think.
I see you, standing in the school library, staring at the shelves meant for the “big kids.” You could’ve stayed with the picture books — you loved them, and no one would’ve judged you for it. But you wanted to know what was beyond. You wanted to read a “real” book. One with chapters. One that made you feel grown-up, even if you were only 7.
You found A Black Bear’s Story by Emil Liers. You read every page by yourself, and when you closed the cover, you knew something had shifted. You weren’t just a kid who loved books anymore. You were a reader. And the world had just gotten a lot bigger.
Dear 10-Year-Old Anni: Some friends live on your bookshelf.
Moving every year (sometimes twice) isn’t easy. Every new school feels like starting over, but one BFF follows you from town to town — Trixie Belden. She becomes your constant. Wherever you go, there’s always another mystery waiting, and Trixie is always happy to have you along.
Trixie taught you that courage doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just showing up, turning the page, and staying curious.
Dear 13-Year-Old Anni: When life feels too big, build your own secret room.
You’re the new kid. Again. You’ve gotten good at walking into classrooms where everyone already knows each other, at figuring out who’s friendly and who’s not, at eating lunch alone without looking like it bothers you. And then you discover The Velvet Room and The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder.
Those books hand you a key — not to a new school, but to elsewhere. Places where imagination opens secret doors and lonely kids make their own magic. You read them over and over, the way other kids replay their favorite songs. These stories remind you that even if you don’t have friends here, you’ll always have friends somewhere.
Dear 16-Year-Old Anni: Weird is wonderful.
You’re still moving. Still the new kid. But now, you’ve discovered something extraordinary: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
This book doesn’t try to teach you a lesson or make you feel wise. It just makes you laugh — a loud, uncontrollable laugh that gets you side-eyes from your classmates and makes you love it even more. Douglas Adams speaks your language — a little absurd, a little irreverent, wildly imaginative — and for the first time, you realize that your particular sense of humor isn’t just yours. It belongs to a whole tribe of wonderfully weird people, and you are one of them.
Dear 20-Something Anni: Welcome to fantasy.
You thought of yourself as a sci-fi girl — Bradbury, Asimov, Clarke, Lucas — all rockets and robots and futures full of stars. And then you found The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever by Stephen R. Donaldson.
Those books didn’t just open a door; they kicked it off its hinges. The landscapes were richer, the stakes were personal and epic at the same time, and suddenly, you were hooked — not just on Donaldson, but on fantasy. You devoured The Elves of Shannara, then dove into dragon-filled skies with Anne McCaffrey, and eventually, inevitably, you landed in Middle Earth. After that, sci-fi had to share space on your shelves with swords, magic, and ancient quests.
You’ve never looked back.
Dear 30-Year-Old Anni: Sometimes you need a door you can walk through — and stay awhile.
Life gets loud. Responsibilities pile up. There’s no recess bell to tell you when it’s time to step outside and breathe. That’s when you return to The Wheel of Time.
Robert Jordan’s sprawling, intricate world becomes your sanctuary. You’ve read the whole series — all 14 books and the prequel — at least five times now. It’s not just a story. It’s a place. One where you belong, even when the real world feels too sharp and fast.
There’s nothing childish about escape. Sometimes, it’s how you remember who you are.
Dear 45-Year-Old Anni: Welcome back.
You didn’t mean to leave fiction behind — it just happened. Work filled your days. Technical papers filled your reading time. By the time you hit 45, fiction was something that lived in movie theaters, not in your hands.
And then, on a business trip, you picked up The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Everyone had been talking about it, so you figured — why not? It was just a quick read for the flight.
Instead, you stayed up until 4 a.m., glued to the pages in a hotel room, with an 8 a.m. meeting looming over you. You didn’t care. Katniss had you, and that was all there was to it.
That book didn’t just give you a story — it gave you back your stories. It cracked open the door you hadn’t realized you’d closed, and fiction flooded back in. After that, you dove headfirst into urban fantasy, rediscovering the joy of impossible worlds. You remembered that stories weren’t a distraction from life. They were a way back to yourself.
Dear 51-Year-Old Anni: You’re about to be humbled.
You read all the “right” Buddhist books. You thought you had a handle on the whole thing — the philosophy, the practice, the mindset. And then you met Nothing Special by Charlotte Joko Beck.
It didn’t pat you on the back for being clever. It asked you to sit down and experience life instead of analyzing it. That book didn’t just shift your practice — it shifted you.
It showed you that wisdom isn’t about collecting answers. It’s about being brave enough to sit with the questions.
Closing
If I could gather all these books into one worn-out backpack and hand them to present-day me, I would. Because the truth is, I still need them. Each one holds a piece of who I was — and a reminder of who I’m becoming.
Books shape us. They remind us. They make us who we are.
I can’t wait to see what my 60 year old self will find.
Warmly,
Anni
