I have always been an avid reader. When people would ask what I liked to read, I would honestly tell them “anything and everything I can get my hands on”. When I moved, I donated two huge boxes of books to the city library and still moved three huge boxes of books with me, not counting my “favorites” that I kept out.
But last weekend I was digging through my boxes of books, looking for a specific Jodi Picoult book I wanted to re-read (she’s my absolute favorite author) when Kelly asked me, “do you read?”
I don’t know if he was kidding or not, but I got kind of lost in thought after that because… no, I don’t read. Not anymore. I’m no longer a reader.
I used to read one or two books a week. That was my inside pastime of choice. I most recently borrowed a book from my Mama at Christmas and I finished it in March. I have been carrying around a Brene Brown book in my bag for the last month and I’m on page 30. And it’s an excellent book! I have loved all 30 pages of it so far!
But I don’t read.
I spent some time last night thinking about this because it’s just one more thing on an ever-growing list of “things that have changed”. I think this particular change can be blamed on apartment life. Whenever Piper and I are in the apartment, I have something playing on the TV (most recently it’s been Grey’s Anatomy). Seriously, it’s on in the morning while I get ready for work and it’s on in the evenings until I go to bed. Why? Because apartment life is not quiet. I can hear traffic, the train, the neighbors… all. the. time. And I hate it.
Anytime I have tried to read in the apartment, I end up just thinking about all of these noises I can hear and how disconcerting it is and how much I hate it.
So I don’t read.
I think maybe someday, when apartment life is in my past, I’ll be able to pick it back up. Hopefully in time for my Winter tradition of re-reading Harry Potter.
I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book.