I still don’t read enough. Not enough for me, not enough to be happy about my reading. I’m often distracted, be it by the news, or by scrolling social media feeds or by I don’t even know what. It’s bothering me, because reading is like breathing to me and it’s already a second month of this reading weirdness.
Maybe it’s a side effect of being content with my life right now? I was using reading as an escape route for the last few years and now I just don’t need it. Maybe I just need to shift how I think of reading back to how it was before.
Because, for me, reading is all about feeding my curiosity, discovering new worlds, learning new ways to look at things, travelling from my reading chair. Through reading I learn about the world, other people, different ways of living. Reading keeps my mind open, it helps me stay curious and it has always led me through the most amazing paths.
I’m not a great traveller, I like being at home, so reading is my way of travel, of meeting other cultures. Reading helps me understand other cultures, how people think, why some things are happening. Books are magic, they are these small, handheld portals to other worlds, which helped me become who I am now.
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