Reading for pleasure seems like such an indulgence in my adult life. Over winter break on some mornings, I woke up, let the dog out, made coffee, let the dog back in, and got back in bed to read for an hour or two. it felt incredibly decadent, but at the same time it revived my soul. Truly. At some point it occurred to me to incorporate this holiday habit into my regular weekend routine. Of course that didn’t happen though. There’s too much to do.
I’m doing better about reading at night before going to bed, but there’s only so much reading I can do at night. I’m tired! My son and I still read together most nights. This is a routine I look forward to, and I hope it will continue for a while longer. My son is almost 12, so it gives us a chance to talk about the book, characters, and events taking place. Sometimes it’s a chance to read something that I might not ordinarily pick out.
I have so many great memories of getting lost in books as a child. There were many afternoons spent reading without nagging obligations like house cleaning or grocery shopping or the haunting feeling that one should be doing this instead of that. I suppose it’s disingenuous to claim that adult obligations like cleaning and cooking and such keeps me from reading. I can easily spend a few hours playing Animal Crossing on the weekends. Animal Crossing, like reading, is relaxing, but it demands less from my brain, which sometimes really needs a break. I guess as a child my schedule wasn’t filled with the responsibilities of caring for a home and family and also carrying the weight of work.
It would be nice to recapture what seemed like limitless time to read, but I might have to settle for scheduled and shorter reading retreats. And that, I suppose, is fine too.