This reminds me so much of my past. Looking at her as she is reading her books, nodding over a page cross legged and hunched making notes.
It reminds me of the people who once told me how to live my life. People who were reading about life from books, not knowing really what they were talking about. They quoted lines from famous writers, Dostojevski, Tolstoj or Schiller. But they did not really have a clue because they never had an experience any of the things they were reading about. Their lives were sheltered and boxed into little, grey cubicles. They only knew one thing for certain; how to avoid making waves on the surface of the great water.
They made it look all so real. They gave hints. They made rules. They made corrections. They bossed around. They pushed. They squashed. They fooled me.
I read the books myself, I watched them and listened to their preaches for as long as I could bare it. But it did not work.
They lied. They pretended to know how to live life. But I could not believe them any more. I realized, they looked fake and out of touch. I looked at what they said and what they did, and the two just did not match. I felt foolish. How could I have allowed to be deceived by all these obvious lies.
Finally, I stood up and went on my way to find it out myself what this whole thing called Life was really about. I found my way. I am grateful.
Much much time later I understood that they had not lied with ill intention. They really had not know any better.