Books That Hold My Heart and Shape My World

Richard Brautigan, 1977

I was a teenage alcoholic who loved to read. One afternoon, still drunk from the night before and sipping scotch in a basement, a guy I was sleeping with tossed a book at me. “Read this,” he slurred, nursing his hangover with the hair of the dog. I opened it and didn’t stop until I reached the last page. It's dreamlike prose and quiet sense of calm seeped into my foggy mind and troubled heart, offering a strange kind of escape and inspiration all at once. The story of healing and finding meaning felt personal, the loss and relationships struck a nerve, and its vividly imagined world stayed with me long after. I’ve been sober for many years now, but I’ve read that book at least ten times since—sometimes aloud to a lover, letting its quiet power weave its way through both of us.

I loved meditation as a little kid. On my sixth birthday, I wanted everyone to stand in a circle, hold hands, and meditate (there’s a photo to prove it). But life was chaotic—my tumultuous childhood, teen years, and early adulthood pulled me away from that love of contemplation. After getting sober at 27, I found my way back to a spiritual practice, and eventually, I was introduced to a mindfulness technique that deconstructed my very sense of self. What followed was a total paradigm shift—like being unplugged from the Matrix. Awakening is wild and destabilizing, a process that demands guidance and support. The End of Your World gave me just that. Adyashanti writes about the parts of awakening that rarely get talked about: the dismantling of old identities, the fear that arises when the ego begins to dissolve, and the unexpected grief and loss that come with letting go of who you thought you were. This book made me feel seen, understood, and empowered. I especially recommend the audiobook because Adyashanti reads it himself, offering a powerful transmission that deepens the experience and its impact. I’ve recommended this book to anyone I’ve met who is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.

adrienne maree brown, 2019

Pleasure has always come naturally to me—sexual, sensual, creative, and otherwise. Even in the chaos of my upbringing, I found solace in moments of beauty and joy, whether through touch, connection, or simply marveling at the world around me. But Pleasure Activism took my understanding of pleasure to a deeper level. It affirmed that joy isn’t just personal—it’s political. Brown’s work reminded me that fully embracing pleasure is a form of resistance in a world that often demands suffering and self-denial, especially for those of us fighting for justice and liberation. Recently, after a heavy week of witnessing and speaking out about the violence in Palestine, I revisited a few of the book’s essays. Her words reminded me that sustaining activism requires honoring our capacity for joy and rest. That day, I let myself curl up on the couch with my tiny scruffy dog pressed against me, sipping tea, and watching sunlight shift across the room—simple, profound pleasure that felt like a radical reclaiming of my humanity. This book taught me that pleasure isn’t just self-care—it’s a revolution.