Every hobby has a pecking order; whether you’re a hardcore gamer who scoffs at the occasional player, or you’re a lover of wine, judged harshly by the bouquet swirling wine connoisseur. As a lover of books, and avid reader since I could decipher the letters as a child, I knew the pecking order existed, but never knew to what extent until I bought a Kindle.

I own bookcases full of the likes of Rumi, Alice Walker, Judy Blume, Thoreau, and Mary Oliver. I love the feel of their pages. I love the weight of the book pressing the spine against my hand. I love the texture of the paper on my fingertips as I turn each page. But I bought a Kindle anyway. I bought a Kindle because I can download books, new and old, at an instant. I bought a Kindle because I can carry hundreds of books with me to jury duty, or the doctor’s office, or the DMV. I bought a Kindle because it made reading the words I love, easier.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I still enjoy all of the aspects of reading a physical book. I still search the stacks for that cookbook or magazine or novel that I want from time to time. But what I wasn’t prepared for as a new Kindle owner was the backlash from those that deem themselves “real readers”.

I excitedly posted on my Facebook page about my new purchase. Within minutes I had several comments stating “I prefer real books myself”, and “give me a book made of a paper over a computer anyday.” And then there was my college friend (a fellow English Lit major) who stated “why would you support an industry that kills books.”

Listen. I love books. I can’t state that fact enough. I will always buy physical books. Always. I will always love to discover used books with notes in the margin at secondhand bookstores allowing me to see into heart & mind of a read I will never meet. I will always love the whisper of a turning page and the endorphin-raising action of closing a book after you have read every word.

But I love my Kindle, too. Judge me all you want. When we’re sitting side-by-side in the airport and our flight is delayed AGAIN for another two hours, and you’ve finished Huckleberry Finn and your copy of Rolling Stone, I’ll still have 500,000 more books at my fingertips. And I hope that you realize in that instant that my thin little technical device has as much of a place in the world of reading that our cherished, dog-eared paperbacks deserve.