The Character of Reading


The other day I spent most of the hours wrapped in a cozy blue chair reading a new book. It was a precious kind of day where no one expects you to be anywhere and no tasks call your name. You can slip into the oblivion of fiction, become wrapped tightly in the storyline, melting into the characteristics of the characters. It was the kind of day where after one hundred pages you find that you half expect the characters to be right there with you, asking you what to do on the next page, how to resolve the conflict that seems impossible to fix. When I finally left the cozy walls of the apartment it was only to realize that the movements of the novel had not sprung off the pages and the world was just as I had left it, moving on as nothing has changed. I wondered how I can get so entrapped in their lives, these people that exist only on paper. I had begun to hope with them, to dream with them. Perhaps I am just a hopeless romantic, believing that the truth of novels can be the truth of the world, or perhaps I never truly lost the vivid and wonderful imagination I had as a child. Whatever the reason, when the book finished I had the same feeling I have always had, when the last word is read and there is no more. It is a feeling of accomplishment, of satisfaction, stirred up with a slight twinge of sadness that the story can no longer draw you deep into its world. 

I once tried to date a boy who didn’t like to read. When reviewing the failure of this dating endeavor a good friend remarked matter-of-factly that part of the problem lay in this fact that I had dismissed as unimportant. Reading, she stated, is not just a thing to do. Being able to enjoy a good book is a character trait. As I lay down my book and return to the world that exists around me, I cherish that statement. 

And in final real news, school starts again tomorrow. Just three quarters left. I admit I am not looking forward to them, but like the little engine that could, I will just keep chugging. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Endings and Beginnings

 I've had a lot of endings that are also beginnings.  In fact, I've lived in Jeff's house for 3.5 years and that's the longest I've lived in a single home since I left Virginia at the age of 16. For over half of my life I have been without roots. I've lived in 9 homes in the last 12 years. That is absurd.  And the truth is, I don't want to be rootless anymore. I want to settle in, build something I am proud of, and never have to pack another moving box in my life. This restless, wandering soul wants to plant my feet on the same ground for more years than I can count and raise my daughter like I was raised in Virginia- with lasting friends and mother-daughter book clubs and people you grow up with. I haven't had a single place I've felt was truly my home since I left Richmond as a teenager, and I am ready to change that.  So in one week, we move to Tennessee. It is a place where a lot of our dreams lie. It is where Jeff will continue a career that he
Read more

Faith Within Suffering

 I didn't talk about God for a while.  When I was younger, I never stopped. My oldest friend and I laughed last weekend about how I would pray for her to attend church when we were kids and tell her about my prayers. When I was in college, it was my purpose. On the reservation it was my profession.  When the waves of suffering hit, I still professed God's goodness for a while, but eventually it became too much. The waves kept knocking me down every time I tried to get up. I was sick in a cancer ward. My relationship with church completely upended. My marriage destroyed.  I stopped talking about my God because I couldn't make sense of my suffering or anyone else's pain. I didn't have any of my youthful certainty. I just had a whole bunch of questions and a whole lot of anger.  Until life got better. Until I got perspective. Until I stood in the snow among the Tetons and said to the wind, "Ok, God, I'm ready. Let's do this again. I'm with you." 
Read more

Five Years After the Divorce

Image
It has been five years, this December, since a judge declared my marriage officially over. It was the culmination of the worst season of my whole life. It was the end of something I had believed was forever. It was a season of bitter tears, struggles with depression and thoughts of suicide, and complete and utter hopelessness. Everything I had believed in had been shattered and in the end, I hadn't been chosen by the one who I chose to marry. I believed the false narrative that I hadn't been good enough, strong enough, or healthy enough. I was certain happiness would never find me again.  Over the next five years, I had to rediscover myself. I had to relearn my strength, my worth, my value. I had to heal from what had happened. I had to be angry and learn how to let that anger go. I lost my relationship with church and grew new relationships with a team of doctors when I got a cancer diagnosis just four months after my divorce was finalized. I had to figure out who God was, who
Read more