Strange indeed.
I suppose it is not uncommon to be effected by a tune or a movie, but a story book? I am not talking about paradigm shifting here or learning some irrelevent bits of trivia, but actually taking on the life expounded in the pages of books.
Take for instance Oscar Wilde. When I read him, I become terribly aloof in my own misguided superiority that manifests in my turning terribly rude. Then there was the time I digested a Buddhist script, I was on a puffy cloud of calm, which actually saved me from hysterics when I lost my camera a week later.
I am currently reading a novel set in Princeton and I am inexplicably drawn by this mad desire to study Faust.
Sigh. I had neglected to apply to Cambridge or Oxford because I was terrified of being surrounded by upper middle classmen who would naturally have pictures of ancestors gracing the hallowed halls. Of course I was wrong. Fear and embarrassment were stupid stupid stupid reasons not to send in my application. Especially after my personal tutor was egging me to do it.
On one weekend visit to Cambridge, I remember scaring the pants out of travel companion when I stood by a canal and cried my heart out in regret.
Well I did dismally at law school anyway. To be frank. I never truly worked.
Motivation came to me too late.
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