I turned 43 yesterday, which is something I’m very grateful for. My father died when he was 30 and I am painfully aware that each year is a blessing. Each year brings new wisdoms and awareness that I’d never trade for a slightly more youthful self.
I love to read and have a diverse nightstand. The top book, All the Light We Cannot See, is gripping and sobering. My daughter and book-buddy Yitty read it and kept leaving it in strategic places so I’d start it. Once I did I couldn’t stop. It’s historical fiction, meticulously researched, set in World War II France and Germany. It will help you understand how a regular person could become a Nazi. I cried more than once, mostly over parent-child interactions.