Best Book Ever...

On a handful of occasions in recent weeks, I've received this compliment: "It's the best book I've ever read."

I want to believe that's true. But I also find myself thinking: "I wonder what else they've read." Then I start to ponder whether or not--if I were to learn which books ranked #2 and lower--if I'd agree with Involuntary Joy's #1 status.

So what's up with that? My opinion doesn't matter. I simply need to accept this type of compliment. It should be enough that someone wants to share the sentiment: "It's the best book I've ever read." That's incredibly significant. Unbelievably significant. For some reason, at this point in that person's life, my book mattered. It made a difference somehow.

Why can't I believe that?

I want to believe that.

Not only that...it's a heck of a lot better than being the worst book someone's read. And probably if someone does think that about Involuntary Joy, they will keep that a private thought.

Fascinating...