Confessions of a non-reader, part II

About 18 months ago, I wrote a blog post about how I don’t read and how I felt that was something I ought to be doing and that it’s something I’m embarrassed about. I still feel the same way. Being well read is the mark of an educated person. Problem is, 18 months later, and I still haven’t read a single novel or a work of non-fiction. I got lots of great recommendations from my reading friends. But I never acted on any of them. I signed up for some book website thing that I can’t even remember the name of now. But I never read a book.

Colin is just finishing up reading the Lord of the Rings. I’m impressed.

We were at the library yesterday. We go to the library weekly to get Jackson books. I decided I would finally get me something. I found an author I know I used to like and grabbed a book that I think I’ve never read.

As we were climbing into bed, Colin started reading the Lord of the Rings. I pulled out my book. I read the short preface that described the true events that inspired the book and then I immediately had to share what I read with Colin. As I turned to the first real page, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t start to read. It didn’t feel right. What did feel right was reading it out loud to Colin, or maybe reading it and then paraphrasing it to Colin. Or better yet, shutting the book and having a conversation with Colin.

I’m trying to analyze myself and this situation.

Option one:

I long thought my inability to read novels was because my attention span has been destroyed by the short status updates on facebook. Perhaps I’ve been wrong. Maybe it’s not that, but something else. Maybe I’ve been turned into some sort of extroverted monster. I have to connect to other people, have to share what I know and what I’ve experienced with other people. As shallow as it may be on facebook, it is still a person I know out there acknowledging my existence, “liking” pictures of my kids, and “lol-ing” at my jokes. 

 

What has happened to me? Perhaps I was always this way, but facebook has created a easy platform to do this constantly throughout the day. The irony is that just by writing this blog post I am doing the exact thing I just figured out that I do. I also have the feeling I have made past resolutions to not facebook and blog so much.

Option two: (this sounds fluffier and nicer)

My sharing of information is within normal boundaries. My wanting to talk to Colin is just a sign that I would rather be with a real person than fictional characters in a book. I don’t read others adventures because I would rather be out having my own. I have a deep honest fear of missing out on life (especially the changing of seasons, holidays, other opportunities for fun).  As such, I make us do a lot as a family. In addition to my fear of missing out, I fear forgetting. I know I have a poor memory and I use photography as a crutch for that.

Chances are it’s a mix of the two.

Either way, I’m not going to feel quite so bad about not reading anymore. I know I will always feel insecure about that, but maybe I won’t feel guilty anymore. I’m still open to suggestions for books, but the plots have to be happier and more exciting than my life, and that’s going to be hard to do. :) Lol…

And because every post needs a picture, here’s one of  my favorite pictures I’ve taken of Annie when she was less than a month old.

And one of Jackson from a year ago.