With our transition to e-readers, we donated most of our books to the library. Our bookshelves gradually became storage spaces for non-books: racks of ink, fountain pen supplies, a fabric bin full of camera straps and lenses.

Over the past couple of years, my husband has slowly accumulated a shelf full of graphic novels, which for obvious reasons are more pleasant to read in physical form. He bought a small clip-on light for reading in bed, which is still one of my biggest blockers for reading books in paper form, and he has now switched back to physical books for novels as well.

A couple of weeks ago, he mentioned he was running out of shelf space. Maybe we should get another book shelf. We looked around at a few and felt like our life force had been sapped by the process. We could not get excited about cheap particle board shelf, didn’t have ideas for where to look for real shelves, and honestly didn’t want to spend our free time (or money) scouring the world for a decent wooden book shelf that we’d just hide away in the guest room anyway.

Instead, when we got home, I gathered all my art supplies, my camera supplies, my doodads and knick knacks, and I consolidated. Camera stuff I access once or twice a year went in a drawer. Rarely used inks? Also in a drawer. I found new homes for objets d’art. I distributed what was left of my art supplies and ink samples onto a shelf with sketch books and fresh journals, and my small box of bottled inks went on a shelf with hobby books about gardening and drawing.

Every time I see my hobby books and supplies organized in the bookshelf, I feel a jolt of pleasure.

When I was done, I’d cleared two shelves — one for myself and one for my husband. Faced with an open shelf all to my own, I started collecting the books that survived all the cullings: my writing books, the Tao Te Ching, Basho’s On Love and Barley, a book of Mary Oliver’s poetry, a collection of American short stories I bought at a used book store with our son, a book he gave me for Christmas one year (Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory).

This rearranging transformed me. My little shelf of books delights me. It makes me crave physical books again. Not novels, but smaller books. Books that I read during the day, or read excerpts from in the morning with my coffee. Or non-fiction that’s not work-related, like the excellent book I just finished, Life in Three Dimensions by Shigehiro Oishi, which is about a third dimension to a good life besides happiness and meaning: psychological richness. This third dimension, which is driven by curiosity and exploration, resonates deeply with me.

Our son loves to go book shopping, and I of course, am always happy to tag along on that kind of shopping trip. On a recent jaunt to a bookshop, where he needed to buy a book for school, I felt inspired to buy a book of poetry. I asked our son what poets he likes, and he said T.S. Eliot, so I bought a slim paperback volume that will fit nicely on my shelf when I finish it.

This re-opening to physical books has invigorated me. Instead of ordering books online or going to Barnes & Noble to buy my notebooks, I’ve started parking downtown in my tiny town. I walk to the art shop for my Leuchtturm journals, then up to Blacksburg Books. I ordered Life in Three Dimensions from there, and 1000 Words by Jami Attenberg. I browse their used book shelves for hard copies of some of my small favorites, or whatever else I might find. On my recent trip, I bought a used copy of A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver. I’ve been looking for something exactly like this! Maybe I’ll write poetry on my sabbatical.

These trips to local shops, where the atmosphere feels cozy and real, where the people working in the stores have expertise and care about their store and their merchandise, these trips feel rich and satisfying. Much more so than driving to suburban box stores and parking in a giant parking lot. And these books on the table next to me, with their paperback covers lifted to invite me in, they feel good in my hands. I like the feathery edges of the pages and the bendiness of the soft cover.

I feel a whole world has opened to me. I’m reading poetry. I’m reading about poetry. I’m getting out into my community. I’m chatting with shopkeepers. I took the day off today, and I’ll take my sketchbook to a local coffee shop and draw. I love walking around cities when I travel; maybe after I drink my coffee, I’ll walk around my own town. See the flowers and the shops.

And all of this from a simple rearranging of our bookshelves.