Hmmmm… I hope this is the appropriate forum for this.
I’ve loved books all my life (at least, as far back as I can remember). I read my first “grown-up” book at the tender age of eight (it was Michael Crichton’s “Andromeda Strain” if anybody is interested – I didn’t understand it all, but I enjoyed reading it). As a teenager I especially had a love of fantasy and science fiction, and would frequently read a book each night before going to bed. I didn’t get along well with my older brother and had few, if any, friends to play with, and books provided me with an ever-changing imaginary world that I could disappear into and become somebody else for a few hours at a time. Basically, I was a bookish, shy kid with a vocabulary far in advance of that of my peers as a result of my penchant for reading. I don’t know, however, whether I was isolated from my peers because I was so bookish, or whether I became so bookish because I was isolated from my peers fro other reasons.
After high school and into college, my tastes broadened a bit to include horror and mystery, and I eventually stopped reading much fantasy. Science fiction remained my first love, and I especially was into so-called “hard” science fiction written by people who actually had some knowledge of science. Rarely a week would go by that I wouldn’t buy at least one new book, and I frequently had two or three different books going at the same time. I also hated to throw away any book that I enjoyed, and have always loved going back and rereading an old favorite. It was like reconnecting with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years – I remembered just enough to give me a sense of giddy anticipation as to what would happen, but the passage of time would have dulled my recall of particulars.
[Just to give you an idea of how many books I have, when I recently moved after living in the same apartment for nine years, the vast majority of the many boxes I had to schlep to the new house were filled with boxes, and I now have one entire wall of the basement lined with bookcases that are all filled to the brim.]
Even into my 30s, I would still end up reading most nights (although a busy work schedule meant that it now took me 2 or 3 nights to finish a book instead of one). Reading wasn’t just something I did – I truly believed it was an inextricable part of my essential character.
And then, something happened. A little over a year ago I met a wonderful woman and began the first truly meaningful relationship I had ever had in my life. Three months ago, we got married, and are very happy together. And it just occurred to me that I’ve probably read maybe two or three novels over the course of the last year – and I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything!
Now, there are plenty of reasons why I haven’t been reading much lately. Work is, as always, hectic. My long-time favorite authors haven’t come out with anything lately (at least nothing worth reading in my opinion) and I haven’t had the chance to discover any new favorites. I’ve been slowly but steadily building up my DVD library and finding that I really enjoy watching the same movies over and over again (especially those with multiple commentary tracks and behind-the-scenes featurettes). But I really think the single greatest factor is simply that for the first time in my life I have somebody with whom I can share it. Reading is, by its nature, a solitary activity, and I’m finding I would much rather spend time with my wife, even if it’s only snuggling on the couch while we watch “Law and Order” reruns on TNT. I suppose there will come a time when we are no longer giggly newlyweds and will need our “private” time away from each other, and maybe then I will start reading again, but it still amazes me how little I miss reading. It used to be that I couldn’t wait to get home and dive into a novel, even if it was one I had read before. Now, however, it hardly crosses my mind to pick up a book when I get home.
Anyway, I don’t want to imply that a love of reading is necessarily associated with anti-social behavior and/or an inability to have real-world relationships. But I think that it may possibly have been the case with me.
Any other reformed biblioholics out there? If so, why do you think you’ve stopped reading as much as you used to? Do you miss it? Think you’ll “regress”?
Regards,
Barry