A few days ago I was reading an article which quoted the idea that families are what is left when everything else is gone. Or everyone else. Either way the thought is sort of "families of the gaps" philosophy.
My guess is that platitude is intended to kindle a warm feeling of confidence that there is anything that will be left after everything else in life goes the way it seems to be going. (Maybe not; but why else would you say such a thing?) In any case, that's not how it works with me whose closest family has been dribbling away since a decade before I was even born. For me the thought isn't merely banal, it is depressing.
"A few days ago," I began, "I was reading." Well of course. That's what I do. Most of my friends read too. To some extent I recommend reading to others, but I have a bit of hesitation pushing it too hard with anyone who hasn't already been sucked into the practice. You do find gems of insight but you also wade through sloughs of depressing platitudes.
I think reading is rather much to ask of anyone other than an elderly and mellowed hobbit with a safe cozy hole, a private library, a warm fire, and an appropriate number of nephews to chop the wood to keep it burning.
I would have all that if my siblings hadn't died, or so I fantasize. Reading and dreaming and chopping wood each have their place in the actual reality game but each has its drawbacks too. "It's weary labor, chopping wood," said Peer Gynt (Henrik Ibsen, 1867). "But to chop and dream is crazy mad."