For most of my life, I was that reader.

The kind who swore allegiance to physical books only. Hardcover when possible. Dog-eared paperbacks acceptable in a pinch. I loved the smell of books. I loved the weight of them in my hands. I loved the visible progress—the thickness of pages read on the left, the promise of pages still waiting on the right.

There was something deeply satisfying, almost visceral, about holding a book. Turning pages felt ceremonial. Reading felt real.

And if I’m being honest, I liked being seen with a book.

At a coffee shop. In an airport. On a park bench. A book in hand felt like a quiet signal to the world: I’m a reader. There’s a certain social shorthand there—one I didn’t realize I valued until much later.

So when e-readers started becoming popular, I resisted hard.

“I’ll never be a Kindle reader,” I told myself.
“I don’t want another screen.”
“I want my kids to see me reading, not scrolling.”
And truly—I meant it.

I worried that if I sat on the couch with a device in my hands, my kids wouldn’t know the difference between reading a novel and answering emails. I worried about screen fatigue. I worried about losing something sacred.

I was loyal. Almost stubbornly so.

The Turning Point (On a Plane, Of Course)

Then one day—on a plane of all places—I saw a girl in her early twenties sitting a few rows ahead of me.

She was reading on the cutest little pink Kindle.

Meanwhile, I had my own book out… but also two more stuffed into my carry-on. One “just in case I finished,” and one because I wasn’t sure what mood I’d be in mid-flight.

I remember noticing how light her bag must have been. How easy it looked. No juggling. No bookmarks slipping out. No overhead-bin book shuffle.

And something shifted.

I don’t know if it was practicality finally winning. Or aesthetics (because yes, that Kindle was adorable). Or the realization that I was carrying half a library just to feel prepared.

But I remember thinking:

I want to be a Kindle girl.

That thought surprised me.

Becoming the Thing I Said I’d Never Be

It didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t immediately abandon physical books. In fact, I still love them—and I always will.

But once I got my Kindle, it quietly became part of my everyday life.

What surprised me most wasn’t that I liked it—it was how much it solved problems I didn’t realize I was working around.

I could read anywhere.

Bright sunlight? No problem.
Dim bedroom lighting? Still easy.
Middle-of-the-night insomnia reading? Perfect.

The Kindle screen doesn’t feel like a phone or tablet. It’s gentler. Easier on the eyes. It doesn’t scream “screen time” in the same way.

I could carry everything without carrying anything.

One device. Dozens of books. No weight. No decision fatigue. No overpacking.

And then there was Libby.

This was the final seal-the-deal moment for me.

Being able to connect my Libby account and borrow books from my local library directly onto my Kindle? That felt like magic.

I didn’t have to give up libraries. I didn’t have to give up that feeling of borrowing and returning. I just gained convenience.

It still felt aligned with who I am.
What About My Kids?

This was the biggest concern I had—and the one I hear most often from other parents.

Here’s what I’ve found: context matters more than the device.

I talk out loud about what I’m reading. I share passages. I tell them when I’m borrowing a library book digitally. I still read physical books with them daily.

They know the difference.

And honestly? Seeing reading adapt to real life might be just as valuable as seeing it look a certain way.

I Still Love Physical Books (And Always Will)

This isn’t a rejection of paper books. Not even close.

I still buy them. I still gift them. I still love the ritual of a new hardcover and the comfort of a well-worn paperback.

But now, instead of an either/or identity, I have a both/and one.

And that feels right.

Why My Kindle Goes Everywhere With Me Now

• Travel
• Waiting rooms
• Bedside reading
• Library borrowing
• Low-light reading
• Mood-reading without commitment

It’s not about being trendy. It’s about being honest about what works.

And for me, this works.

It’s simply worth sharing.