I want to start reading again.
When did this happen to me? You know how it is when you don’t recognize a person anymore? Well, that’s how I feel about myself.
I wasn’t always such a magazine girl. I used to read things besides blogs and e-mails and the occasional newspaper. My bookcase wasn’t always half-stocked with photos and blank CDs. In fact, I grew up with my nose perpetually in a book. That’s what people knew me for: the fact that I could not and would not stop reading for anything. Scholastic book fairs were among the great joys of my elementary school life. Trips to the bookstore were my personal definition of heaven. I actually welcomed the summer reading lists for my English classes in high school. What’s more, I spent hours upon hours hiding out in a library corner instead of socializing during lunch. Let’s face it, I was a huge nerd and I probably wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I think college was when it all changed. . . maybe spring 2001. Yep, I’d say spring 2001 was the point where I officially stopped reading for recreation. At the time, I felt weary of college textbooks and overwhelmed by all kinds of other priorities. I’m pretty sure the number of books I’ve read in the last six years hasn’t even touched double-digit territory. Even if it has, it just barely has.
Something is missing from my life. I want to lose myself in a story’s plot again. . . work my imagination to the max. . . feel connected to the characters. . . feel excited and totally absorbed in the page before me. How could I have given it up for so long? How did I ever lose my focus on something so important?
Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself. I’m hanging my head because I feel dependent on so many sources of sensory stimulation at the same time, and blaring sensory stimulation isn’t really life, it’s just a short-term substitute for it. When I get on the treadmill, I can’t bear to be alone with my own quiet thoughts anymore. Ohhhh, nooooo, I have to turn on the TV right away. . . and put on my headphones. . . and listen to music while watching TV at the same time. . . and it’s all so empty-feeling, especially if I’m watching a crappy movie just to distract myself from the fact that I’m on the treadmill. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the treadmill is great. I think it’ll make my body a hell of a lot stronger in the next few months. What does that matter, though, if my mind is decaying at the same time? Who really wants to share life with a physically fit person who is stupid?
I want to go to the library and seek out a book that really interests me to the depths of my soul. I’d love to broaden my horizons, expand my meaningful experience base, and have something intellectual to discuss with people. After all, I’m sick of having conversations about whatever fitness tip or recipe I saw in a magazine the other day. I need less TV and more books. (Music is still fine. Essential, even. TV, though? I swear, it’s so much better to watch nothing at all than to watch a movie that is truly bad. . . one you’d never watch in a million years if not for your multi-tasking compulsions. Of course, it’s different if you’re laughing at the movie’s or TV show’s sheer, unadulterated badness with a group of friends. However, that’s usually not the case for me.)
I need to sit under a tree branch on a sunny, shimmery day and read. Just read. Not on the treadmill. . . at least, not right away. I need to rediscover what it’s like to give a book my undivided attention, and I know exactly what that book is going to be.
When did this happen to me? You know how it is when you don’t recognize a person anymore? Well, that’s how I feel about myself.
I wasn’t always such a magazine girl. I used to read things besides blogs and e-mails and the occasional newspaper. My bookcase wasn’t always half-stocked with photos and blank CDs. In fact, I grew up with my nose perpetually in a book. That’s what people knew me for: the fact that I could not and would not stop reading for anything. Scholastic book fairs were among the great joys of my elementary school life. Trips to the bookstore were my personal definition of heaven. I actually welcomed the summer reading lists for my English classes in high school. What’s more, I spent hours upon hours hiding out in a library corner instead of socializing during lunch. Let’s face it, I was a huge nerd and I probably wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I think college was when it all changed. . . maybe spring 2001. Yep, I’d say spring 2001 was the point where I officially stopped reading for recreation. At the time, I felt weary of college textbooks and overwhelmed by all kinds of other priorities. I’m pretty sure the number of books I’ve read in the last six years hasn’t even touched double-digit territory. Even if it has, it just barely has.
Something is missing from my life. I want to lose myself in a story’s plot again. . . work my imagination to the max. . . feel connected to the characters. . . feel excited and totally absorbed in the page before me. How could I have given it up for so long? How did I ever lose my focus on something so important?
Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself. I’m hanging my head because I feel dependent on so many sources of sensory stimulation at the same time, and blaring sensory stimulation isn’t really life, it’s just a short-term substitute for it. When I get on the treadmill, I can’t bear to be alone with my own quiet thoughts anymore. Ohhhh, nooooo, I have to turn on the TV right away. . . and put on my headphones. . . and listen to music while watching TV at the same time. . . and it’s all so empty-feeling, especially if I’m watching a crappy movie just to distract myself from the fact that I’m on the treadmill. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the treadmill is great. I think it’ll make my body a hell of a lot stronger in the next few months. What does that matter, though, if my mind is decaying at the same time? Who really wants to share life with a physically fit person who is stupid?
I want to go to the library and seek out a book that really interests me to the depths of my soul. I’d love to broaden my horizons, expand my meaningful experience base, and have something intellectual to discuss with people. After all, I’m sick of having conversations about whatever fitness tip or recipe I saw in a magazine the other day. I need less TV and more books. (Music is still fine. Essential, even. TV, though? I swear, it’s so much better to watch nothing at all than to watch a movie that is truly bad. . . one you’d never watch in a million years if not for your multi-tasking compulsions. Of course, it’s different if you’re laughing at the movie’s or TV show’s sheer, unadulterated badness with a group of friends. However, that’s usually not the case for me.)
I need to sit under a tree branch on a sunny, shimmery day and read. Just read. Not on the treadmill. . . at least, not right away. I need to rediscover what it’s like to give a book my undivided attention, and I know exactly what that book is going to be.
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