This will be a controversial take, but stay with me.
If you strip away the rituals, the buildings, the candles, and the robes—churches, synagogues, and temples are, on a simple secular level, some of the world’s longest-running book clubs.
A group of people gathering weekly, sometimes daily, to read and reflect on the same book. Over and over again. Not because the book changes—but because they do.
And whether you’re religious, spiritual, atheist, agnostic, or somewhere in between, there’s a lesson here for all of us.
You can read the same passage a hundred times, but on the hundred and first, it hits you differently.
Because your lived experience has shifted.
The heartbreak you hadn’t yet known.
The clarity you didn’t have.
The question that hadn’t fully formed.
That same line—one you once skimmed past without a second thought—suddenly feels like it was written just for you.
It got me thinking: what if we treated the most transformational books in our lives the same way?
What if we didn’t just read them once and move on?
What if we saw them as living companions to revisit—not because they’ve changed, but because we have?
A few years ago, I read Awaken Your Genius by my husband, Ozan Varol. Yes, I’m biased. But also—no. This book cracked something open in me. It wasn’t just about creativity or original thinking—it was about shedding the shoulds and remembering the self hidden beneath all the layers of expectation. It helped me see that reinvention isn’t betrayal—it’s truth-telling.
And then there’s The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer. The first time I read it, I underlined half the book. I read it slowly, because every few pages I had to put it down just to breathe. It gave me a new framework for watching my thoughts instead of becoming them. It helped me begin the quiet, powerful practice of unhooking from the narrative and returning to the now.
Both books changed me. Profoundly.
And I’ve realized recently—I need to read them again.
Because the me who read them then is not the me reading them now.
The first time around, they gave me what I was ready to receive.
The second (and third, and fourth) times? They’ll give me what I didn’t yet know to look for.
So I’m making a commitment to re-read the books that rearranged me. The ones that stirred something ancient and electric. Not because I’ve forgotten their lessons—but because I’m finally ready to learn them more deeply.
Maybe you’ve got a book like that too. One that felt like a lifeline, or a mirror, or a compass.
What if you picked it up again?
Not for achievement.
Not to say you finished another thing.
But to see what else it has to show you now.
Because here’s the thing: wisdom is layered.
And we are layered.
Which means the truth often comes in waves, not lightning bolts.
The books that changed us may not be done with us yet.
P.S. If you’re craving something deeper—a sacred space to unhook from who you’ve been and reconnect with who you’re becoming—my husband Ozan and I are co-creating something really special. It’s called The Awakening.
It’s not a retreat. It’s a rebirth.
An intimate two day experience in Portland, Oregon designed to help you release the life that no longer fits—and step fully into the one that does.
If your soul just perked up a little… listen.
This isn’t just a weekend. It’s a turning point.
