Personal Narrative: Achilles Heel Changed My Life

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an embarrassed closet bibliophobe. I fully realize the unflattering controversy of this admission, yet I cannot deny it has been an integral part of my present being and my most challenging source of my childhood existence. Without any rhyme or reason, the written word simply has never beckoned me or fought for my attention in terms of pleasure or relaxation. It has mysteriously always seemed a challenge, task or miserable chore to be completed in the most expedient way possible. As a child born into a family of fanatic readers, this has proven to be a most uncomfortable and unpopular attribute. It was apparent very early on in my life that I would need to address my Achilles Heel and transform it into my greatest strength. In early years, my mother exhaustingly tried to jumpstart my passion for reading with every Dr.Seuss and Disney book available once my attention span surpassed five minutes. In older years, literary attempts were made with Jeff Kinney, Roald Dahl and J.K.

Sure, I’ll admit I’ve found some hidden gems about humanity when reading texts like Heart of Darkness in AP Literature, but I’d much rather spend my free time exploring complex formulas practicing for math team. I began my literary journey with these subjects, completely consumed in every word of the yearly Guinness Book of World Records. Each amazing feat and fact had me mesmerized on the first page. It was during my later years that I realized the beauty in reading books and what it meant for me. Embracing my need for learning while still challenging my scientific brain simply required a bit more consideration in my selections. While I still may not choose Tolstoy’s War and Peace for pleasure, a subscription to Scientific American would be most valued