[06] I like to believe I still like reading
I haven’t written in more than a month. After writing a blog titled “The 3 monsters that keep me from writing”. The irony!
I have two pages in my journal full of blog ideas. But I don’t sit down to write about one of those ideas. Trust me, I feel guilty about not writing.
So I thought of writing about another thing that gives me the familiar warm feeling of guilt constantly. Reading!
I was an avid reader before I started working. I remember finishing my school books which had stories or new information even before the school session started. I remember reading books hidden under my desk all day in school. I remember sleeping at the last bench in college after spending nights reading any book I could find. I remember being oblivious to everything around me and living in the world of the book as if the world I lived in was a fantasy.
I miss being engrossed in a book. Nowadays when I read, I get lost in my own thoughts instead of the author’s. My thoughts about work, my infinite lists, imaginary conversations between not so imaginary people and so on.
I now buy any book that takes my fancy. And then curse myself as it gathers dust on my shelf. Last year, I pledged to read 50 books on Goodreads and read about 30. Not even one was a long book.
And honestly, it was a pain reaching even the number 30. My 20 year old self would be disappointed in me.
I do not blame my work for losing the concentration with which I used to read. I blame the distractions around me and my incapability to filter them. But what am I supposed to do! There is an information overload each second I am awake.
Each bit of information that I consume leaves a thread in the job queue of my mind. When I sit down to read, my mind recognises the downtime and starts allocating the CPU time my book needs to these (mostly) useless threads. And I forget about the beautiful and intricate plot that the author is trying to build up.
I end up frustrated at having spent 10 minutes reading a single page whose gist I can’t recall because of my inner jibber-jabber.
I absolutely love books. And I really wish I find reading them as fulfilling as I once did.
