The Collector

Whenever someone visits my home, one of the first things out of their mouth is, “Wow, read much?” Or something along those words. Why? Picture a library, with furniture—not library furniture (desks and chairs), but living room, bedroom, dining room furniture—and you have a snapshot of my house (“our” house—mine and my lovely wife’s, who besides being wonderful in countless ways, is a saint for allowing me to turn much of our home into a book lovers paradise).


I am a collector. Not just books, but a collector of many things collectible.

Is this a bad thing? A form of some obsessive/compulsive disorder?

Here is the Mayo Clinic description of Obsessions:

Obsessions are repeated, persistent, unwanted ideas, thoughts, images or impulses that you experience involuntarily and that appear to be senseless. These obsessions typically intrude when you're trying to think of or do other things.

And for compulsions:

Compulsions are repetitive behaviors that you feel driven to perform. These repetitive behaviors are meant to prevent or reduce anxiety or distress related to your obsessions.

I can relate to my collecting the words—repeating, persistent and repetitive. But not “unwanted ideas or images”—I WANT to collect. Does my desire to visit bookstores intrude on my thoughts when trying to do other things? Sure, at times, but that’s not a BAD thing, is it? Do I feel driven to collect? Again, sure, at times. And, again, not a bad thing…is it? Does collecting help reduce anxiety or distress? Ahh, some good news: not when related to my obsessions, which are still debatable. Okay, now I’m not just concerned about the possibility of my having OCD, but bordering on confusion and bewilderment that may appear to be senseless. Let’s skip the psychological evaluation portion of the program and get back to collecting.

I was talking about books. Okay, maybe I exaggerated about our house looking like a library—my wife may be a saint, but she’s not stupid. She has magically managed to tastefully distribute over twenty bookcases throughout the house while still able to maintain…oh, heck, the place reeks with books, almost 3000 of them! What can I say? I can’t help myself—I’m a collector.

My love for reading began as a boy growing up watching my dad devour paperback after paperback with delightful ease. He was a paperback juggler, able to read a half-dozen at a time, leaving dog-eared, food-stained, abused and battered pulps strewn throughout every room of the house. Yes, I always enjoyed reading, but collecting? I used to be like my dad—read a paperback with nary a concern for its safety, then toss it aside like a candy bar wrapper. Then one day, about two decades ago, something clicked inside my skull. While visiting a book store, I noticed a queue of folks, brand-new hardbacks in hand, waiting to meet an author. I grabbed one of the books for myself and joined my fellow readers, met, chatted with, and enjoyed watching this writer (Robert McCammon) autograph my copy—and like that, I was hooked.

I started collecting signed first editions from all the writers I already liked, then expanded my tastes and collection from there. My hobby quickly became a passion; my passion a vocation—one that has yet to show any signs of slowing down. I still love nothing better than leisurely perusing the musty shelves of a used book store in search of buried treasure in the form of an elusive first edition needed to complete a collected set of one of my favorite author’s works. I’ll figure out where to put it (my book cases are overflowing) later. I just can’t help myself. Why? You guessed it—I’m a collector.


And I don’t just collect books. I have happily amassed turtles and frogs (not the real things!), guitars and magazines (I cannot throw them out), globes and tea. Yes, tea! I have over fifty varieties of organic teas, mostly green, rooibos, and yerba mattes. And, yes, I drink my collection every day. That’s another great thing about my collections—they, for the most part, are functional. I read the books I collect, drink the teas, play the guitars, read the magazines. Okay, I admit it—I like to talk to my fake turtles too.

Eliminate the massive quantities of these items and I am basically your everyday normal person…save for a few idiosyncratic tendencies that shall remain nameless.


It is just me? This collecting thing? I don’t think so. Human beings are pack rats, they enjoy accumulating things—be it old newspapers, cabbage patch dolls (remember them?), hammers or Hummels. It could be worse— Jay Leno collects expensive automobiles . Besides being way out of my league cost-wise, imagine what his living room looks like. Oh, that’s right; he has a garage the size of ten of my houses. Makes sense—he also collects a much larger paycheck than I do.

How about you? Are you a collector?

I bet you are.

Until next time…

peace,

Mike