When I was younger, I absolutely loved reading. I would always be borrowing books from my school and local library, I would read Darren Shan books in a day because I’d do nothing else, I received the English award at my 8th grade graduation because I would write the most extensive book reports (especially if I had enjoyed it), and it was even a running joke in my high school theatre class that I would go to the library every weekend. Sure, some may have called me a nerd, but reading for pleasure was never something I was ashamed of. Books teleported me to fantastical lands with fierce beasts and ruthless rulers when I needed to fully escape reality, or served to show me that happy endings are a possibility when my pessimism set in.
Though it seems as though when I needed the most distraction and all the positivity I could get, aka when I was at college, those fantastical lands were traded unfairly for calculus, chemistry, and biology textbooks. Happy endings slowly seemed to get farther and farther away. Besides my first semester, when I was enrolled in an introduction to science fiction class to fulfill a school requirement, I hardly found time to sleep and eat let alone pick up a book for pleasure. My roommate was an English major, and while I do not envy her sleepless nights writing and re-writing papers and preparing for in-depth class discussions, some of the books she was required to read intrigued me. I know it doesn’t sound like much of a big deal, but sometimes not being able to just drop what I was doing, snuggle up under my covers, and fall asleep with my glasses on reading a good book upset me, even though I knew this was only temporary.
Even after I had graduated, I still couldn’t celebrate my four-year break from books with a readathon just yet. The week after graduation I started an internship at a lab (that would later become my place of employment) and I had to study for the most important test of my life. And while I was no longer expected to sit through 8am classes or complete homework assignments, from July 1st to August 24th, 2018, my nose was buried deep in notes to help me pass the test that would determine if the last two years of my life were worth it. No pressure. So as soon as I hit the submit button and saw the word “pass” on my computer screen, do you know what the first thing I thought I would do when I got home? Take a nap. But do you know the second thing that came to mind? Read a book.
I made it my new years resolution in 2019 to read more, to explore how my reading tastes have changed over the years and rediscover a passion that has faded a bit in the past few years. I even treated myself and bought a Kindle for Christmas. So far, my reading year has been pretty successful; I’ve read almost 50 books already and it’s only the middle of June. I’m also planning to participate in a pretty big readathon in July, which would add another sizable amount to read pile. All in all, I’m really happy that reading has become a more important part of my life again. I can’t wait to look back on everything I’ve read in 2019 at the end of the year and see if I fall back in love with any old favorites, or if some new players will gain the spot on the top of my list.
Thoughts About Things 