After a year-and-some of living in this structure people call my house, I went out in the garage tonight and emptied about three boxes of books, bringing them inside for a public life on a new book shelf I threw into the meager furniture mix.

I actually went out in the garage and planned to dig around in book boxes to find one or two specific books on writing, but with plenty of space on the empty shelf talking to me, when I hit my trove of economics and personal finance books, I realized they deserved to be in out of the garage, and looked at, so in they came.

In time, a few good web dev books followed them into the house, and then a few psychology, and then I stopped myself when I finally found the writing titles I was looking for.

In a short while, the new short bookshelf housed a new set of prime sections in my library. On the bottom shelf, the economics, finance, and management type books settled in.

On the second shelf up, half of it was filled with books on masculinity, male spirituality, and male development, and a remaining third of it became home for books on writing.

On the third shelf up, my collection of books on a cluster of topics related to shame and its impact on the soul took residence, which includes a few on narcissism, a few on violence and incarceration, a few on guilt and grace, and a few on te subject of evil.

Onto the top shelf I relocated my favorite books on personal development and leadership, filling it about halfway. On this shelf are a few books by Tim Sanders and by Keith Ferrazzi, both of whom I like because of their perspectives on how to connect with people and on relationship development. They are both gracious people who urge us to remember that others are, well, people. With those books are a few others on how to talk to people, on asking good questions, and on personal and spiritual leadership.

I had ultimately wanted to fill this bookshelf because it sits right across from the entryway when one comes through the front door into the home, and I thought it would do well to feature some of the books that mean so much to me. I guess tonight was the night to fill it. In my mind, it would also become a “working” bookshelf, where my frequently used books are stored. It looks like its on its way as a useful piece of furniture. A well-used bookcase is like a well-used house. It’s a storehouse for a lot of love, even if the cherished objects it cradles are ideas and not people.

On top of the bookshelf, though, is a crown of family photos which were taken within the last week. They are the first pictures I have displayed in the house besides one which I hung because my boss took it. As it turns out, the bookcase fit nicely under the hanging photo of the Sandia mountains rising behind the Rio Grande, centered in a conspicuous section of wall that grabs your eye. I call the array photos that sit on the book shelf a crown, because they are really the jewels that adorn the top of the piece of furniture: four photos of my kin- one of my sister and her husband and kids, one of my brother and his wife and kids, one of me with my entire immediate family, and one of me with my siblings. They are a great set of photos that anyone coming into the house will have to stop and look at and appreciate.

This is the first time I have formally put pictures of my family out in a place where I have lived.

The bookshelf is modestly full now, but it still has space for more books to join it. But because it is satisfactorily full and adorned with family regalia, it means I have put more of myself into this space in which I live.

I guess I am going to stay in this house. I guess I am moving in more.

I guess this house is… my home.