When I was a kid, it would’ve been nearly impossible to find me without a book in hand. My parents often tell stories about when I used to hole up in my bedroom with a novel when we had guests over. I have vivid memories of sitting at my community pool on hot, summer days with my feet dangling into the water as I read another Beverly Cleary novel and of wandering through my local mall, eyes focused on my book instead of the clothing racks in front of me. When I was six, my optometrist told my parents that I needed reading glasses, and I wore them around my elementary school with pride.
The older I got, the less I cared about reading. The cool kids at my middle school teased those who used to hide books under their desks in class so that they could read as our teachers taught, and because I was thirteen, I was willing to give up something that defined my childhood if it meant that I could climb the social ladder. So, I did what I felt like was the obvious thing: I quit reading for half a decade. In March of 2020, like everyone else, I suddenly had a lot of free time in my hands with very little to do. On a whim, I asked my mom if I could order some books to read. As an English teacher, she was over the moon to hear that I wanted to start reading again and told me that she would cover five books for me. I picked out five random young adult books, unsure whether I would really get into them, and pressed the order button. I read all five books in five days. Since that fateful purchase, I’ve read hundreds of books in two years. I’ve stumbled into worlds with sparkling tales of enemies waltzing through ballrooms, plot twists that have left me suffering for days from whiplash, and most of all, experienced pure, unadulterated hope that when the worst happens, things will eventually get better. At a time when things felt so dire and bleak, like I was in a constant state of purgatory, I always had a book to fall into. I think we love to read because we love to see what the world has to offer outside of our bubble. We love the feeling of falling for endearing love interests, the pride that comes with conquering our worst fears, and the knowledge that, even just for a minute, we get to escape our own stressors to live a fantastical, dreamlike reality. Now that I’m no longer couped up in my house, I’ve had to put a little bit more work into continuing my nurturing of reading. If you’re looking to fall back in love with reading—or in love with it for the first time—this is the advice I always give when asked how to make it happen.
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January 2024
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