My Living Canon

There was a season when I stopped asking what I wanted to read next.

Instead, I began asking a different question.

Who do I hope to become?

The answer wasn't another productivity system, a new planner, or a longer reading list.

It was a library.

Not a large one.

An intentional one.

For years, I read the way many of us do whatever sounded interesting, whatever was recommended, whatever happened to be next.

There is nothing wrong with that.

In fact, many wonderful books entered my life that way.

But eventually I realized I wasn't looking for more books.

I was looking for deeper roots.

I wanted a handful of voices that I could return to throughout my life.

Books that would meet me differently at twenty-five than they would at forty-five.

Books that didn't simply entertain me for a weekend but quietly shaped the way I thought, loved, worked, and noticed the world.

That was the beginning of what I now call my Living Canon.

What is a Living Canon?

Traditionally, a canon is a collection of works considered essential.

Mine isn't essential because someone else said it should be.

It's essential because these are the books that are slowly shaping my character.

A Living Canon isn't meant to impress anyone.

It isn't a race to finish the classics.

It isn't a list of books you're supposed to read before you die.

It's a conversation that lasts a lifetime.

Some books are here because they've already changed me.

Others are here because I believe they'll ask questions I'm not yet ready to answer.

That's why it's living.

As I change, this library will change with me.

Some books will leave.

Others will quietly earn a permanent place on the shelf.

I hope I'm still adding to this list when I'm eighty.

Why I Started Building It

When this idea first took shape, almost everything in my life was changing.

I had recently gotten engaged and was learning what it meant to build a life alongside another person. We had just begun living under the same roof, discovering new routines, sharing responsibilities, and figuring out what kind of home we wanted to create.

Nothing about that season felt ordinary.

It was the beginning of ordinary.

We weren't just building a house.

We were building habits.

Traditions.

A marriage.

A life.

It was exciting, beautiful, and unfamiliar all at once.

During that season, I realized I wanted something steady.

Not something that would simply keep me busy, but something that would keep me growing.

I realized that while I could spend my life learning about countless subjects, the subject I most wanted to study was myself.

Not in the sense of self-importance, but in the pursuit of self-understanding.

I wanted to become as educated as I could in what it means to live well.

To understand my strengths and weaknesses.

To recognize the patterns of my own thinking.

To become more patient, more courageous, more attentive, and more at peace.

As I thought about how to do that, I found myself returning to the books that have shaped civilizations, philosophies, faiths, and generations before me.

These weren't simply books to finish.

They were conversations I wanted to spend a lifetime returning to.

Some of these books I discovered on my own.

Some are books I've shared with the people I love.

Others are books I already hope to place into someone else's hands one day—not because I expect them to have the same experience I did, but because I believe they have something enduring to offer.

That's when I realized I wasn't creating a reading list.

I was building a Living Canon.

A collection of books that would grow alongside me, challenge me, comfort me, and occasionally disagree with me.

Books that would shape the home I was building, the traditions I hoped to create, and, I pray, the legacy I one day leave behind.

Long after we finish reading them, they continue reading us.

That is why this Living Canon exists.

It isn't a collection of the greatest books ever written.

It's a record of the books that are helping me become the person I hope to be.