I’m reading old, wonderful books from my bookshelf. I have given hundreds, literally hundreds, of books away in my lifetime. I promised myself I would never buy another one, and then I can’t resist. Those that have survived my moves are priceless possessions, and this week I pulled Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a story by Richard Bach. I have a signed first edition—1970.

Years ago, a friend and I escaped the farm and drove to Denver to hear Richard Bach. When I started rereading the story this week, I sent her a photo of the book, and she wrote back, “That’s a neat picture. What fun we had! I was just thinking about the time you took me to see Richard Bach. That was the neatest thing ever. I so appreciate you for that wonderful experience!”

We were free for the day and came home inspired and grateful for each other’s friendship.

As I read the book, just today, I had to smile because Jonathan Livingston, the seagull/protagonist of the story, fought for his freedom to fly differently, more magnificently than the flock, to challenge himself to fly maneuvers never thought possible. He shed the limits others inflicted on him.

Early on, Jonathan was outcast by the flock leader because Jonathan was not doing what seagulls are created to do: fly, dive, and grab food.

After he became the most skilled seagull at flying, he returned to the flock to teach any interested gull how to fly free as well. Jonathan was a former outcast, so they hesitated, watched, marveled, and one by one, joined in the lessons. They too wanted to fly like they never dreamed possible. Fly with no limits.

Once Jonathan had taught another gull all his knowledge and skills, he left the flock with that gull, knowing he would also be a great teacher.

It’s a great story about struggles, doubts, fears, rejection, believing in oneself, persistence, giving back, and paying it forward. It was also about friendship—helping one another—living by example that we only have limits because of our thoughts. His message, I think, was to believe in ourselves and know limitations are usually self-inflicted.

It reminded me of Dr. Seuss’s magical and energizing book Oh, the Places You’ll Go.

It made me want to click my heels and dance to Willie Nelson.

I share my two rereads with you, my readers (Siddhartha recently and Jonathan Livingston Seagull today) because if you read some oldies you love along with newly published ones, you might be surprised by how wise the words still are, and how the years have given you some wisdom too.

Old words can shine new light.

Until the next time: Live while you live