My book club ties my hands behind my back and forces me to read psychological thrillers. Ok, not literally, but sometimes it feels that way. I haven’t been quiet about my dislike of this genre, especially in the summer of 2018 when suspense crime dramas were chosen three months in a row. I seriously considered quitting the club and we haven’t read one since, until now.

I love my book club, so I quietly checked The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides out of the library and dug in.  I know that I will be in the minority when I assert that I did not like this book, it recently won best Mystery & Thriller on Goodreads for 2019. And yet, I did find one great line in this book.

When the author describes the first time his main character smokes marijuana, he writes that the character feels like he is “drenched in an enormous wave of well-being.” Lost with an unhappy past and an uncertain future, the character’s reaction to marijuana may have been one of the first times he felt an overall sense of happiness and security. For me, though, the words themselves drenched me in satisfaction.

I revel in that same feeling every time I sneak away from reality and settle in with a book I’m looking forward to reading. Ironically, this book didn’t do that for me at all, but this one line made me think, and for that I am willing to forgive my book club for making me read another psychological thriller.

I thought about how I feel “drenched in well-being” every time my teenage son calls me to say “hi” or seeks me out at the end of the day for a good night hug and when my teenage daughter asks me to sit with her while she eats dinner when she comes home late from dance class or regales me with the details of  the latest drama in her friend group. I feel it when my husband of twenty years nonchalantly puts his hand on my leg as we recline on the couch watching television or throws his arm protectively across my chest when he stops short at a red light.

I feel it every time I see a Marco Island sunset, as its crayon box colors of orange, pink and red spread across the blues of sky and water or when I find a perfect green bean, camouflaged masterfully between vines of leaves or pick a crisp leaf of lettuce, as it bursts wildly in every direction, both veggies grown with love from seeds in containers on my patio, 

I know I am needed, loved and appreciated and I am joyful for the beauty I see in nature – these are feelings the character in the book doesn’t get to have. This one well-written line reminded me of the good in life and of all my opportunities to connect positively with the world. I am drenched in blessings. And of course, there’s always the sound of a great sound to evoke bliss in my heart. This morning in the car, it was O.A.R’s Peace. There’s that irony, again,

I’ve been to Colorado in recent years, so I can also appreciate exactly what the character felt in the moment the author described…but that’s a different story. Thanks, Alex Michaelides, this is one great line.

If you’d like to read more about The Silent Patient, click here.

If you’d like to read more about me and why I started this blog, click here.