Attractive book spines in the background of remote video calls are a source of joy to me. And on more than one occasion, I snap a quick photo, secretly loving their collection too—a pendant into the soul of this beautiful, well-read person. I want to learn with them.
For most of the pandemic, I have been happy - grateful - being remotely employed. But my book collection sits in a small bedroom, seen in a different context. That is because my wife is in that space, fighting COVID in projects that impacted vaccine formulation and mass production.
And I am out here as an engineer manager at my kitchen table, the team questioning my frequent house-bound geographical migrations in jest. Sometimes mimicking their virtual backgrounds of the places I've sat. I love them all.
But I wonder, are the engineers on her calls think that Mythical Man-Month is an archaic titled process of medicine formulation? And for all the books I've seen, have they read through their titles so prominently displayed?
Regrettably, my collection has not been well-read. I'm ashamed of it. I'm trying to correct it. But I write this to end that. I am going to commit.
No book seen in my remote view will be left unread.
Regardless, my book collection will continue to grow like unabated technical debt. And all these beautiful book spines leave permanent imprints on my Amazon cart. Oh, and that book I saw on someone else's remote bookshelf yesterday? That's on its way... borne from the brief moments on Slack, Zoom, Teams, or the endless Webex news media interviews.
I recognize that every book in my collection started from a conversation. But lately, I am suffering from a one-way conversation disorder. Remote romantic bibliophilia disorder.
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