Reading will never be optional
A love letter to reading.
I’ve always read a lot. I’m like my dad in that way. And the running joke is that we can’t walk past a bookshop without going in—and we can’t go in without walking out with at least one book. Often two.
My husband always says I speed read and that my fingers must be burnt from how quickly I turn the pages. He’s exaggerating, but it’s not uncommon to find piles of books all over the house, with several on the go at once.
I’ve also often been asked how I find the time and, honestly, I’m never entirely sure how to answer that question. But I did read once something fellow Substacker, Pandora Sykes said about reading and I thought, how perfectly perfect.
Me without reading is like me without food. I would wilt and become silent. I don't read because it is 'better' than watching television. I read because I don't know what else to do.
― Pandora Sykes, How Do We Know We're Doing It Right: & Other Essays on Modern Life
The only period of time when I remember my reading falling off a cliff was when I was in the trenches of postpartum. I’d still drag out my Kindle from time to time, but my brain was in such a state of complete overwhelm and exhaustion that I found it difficult to slip in and out of another world or find any sort of pleasure in reading. I know for other women, however, the opposite is often the case—finding comfort in the pages of a book when the world is dark and you feel like the only person in the world awake.
But now that my kids are getting better at playing independently, the slightest whiff of silence—of not being touched—and I sneak off to a quiet corner, open my book and read for as long as I can. Sometimes it’s a few paragraphs, sometimes I’ll be lucky enough to sneak in a few chapters. Either way, the joy a good book brings to my life is incomparable.
While I prioritise reading above other activities, I must admit that I still have to actively choose to wedge it into my day. Working from home delivers a level of privilege over my time, but this is sometimes a blessing and a curse. The pressure to be productive and perform is unfortunately somewhat inherent in me and, when I’m not productive, I tend to spiral.
The comical irony in all this is, of course, that reading tends to be the very thing that steadies me, and yet it’s often the first thing I abandon when I’m experiencing overwhelm. As if productivity is the answer, or doing more—when I’m desperately needing to do less—will somehow quiet the noise. Alas, it never does. But reading does.
The question is therefore less about how I find the time, and more about why we sometimes try to convince ourselves it’s optional. Reading will never be optional. There will—I hope—always be piles of books scattered around my house: some half-read, others dog-eared and well-loved, and others quietly waiting for their moment.
Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s this: I’ll never be able to walk past a bookshop without going in.
