I have never been incredibly good at anything. Only recently have I developed some skill in baking, I'm able to draw fairly well if I put my mind to it (I have an amazing memory- you can ask Graham to verify this) and I sing pretty well, or so i've been told, but i'm not REALLY good at any of these things on this very short list. I have only ever been really good at reading books. (Embarrassing though it may be) I'm proud to say that the awards I got in school were for reading. I was on every book general knowledge team there was throughout school. Reading was what I looked forward to every break time and at the end of every school day. sheesh I was the girl who had read her matric set-work in the first year of high school and when she felt like she needed some challenging reading decided to spend some quality time with Chaucer. I was the girl who other girls didn't understand- because who reads anything other than magazines- and the girl that intimidated the boys by being as knowledgeable about Sci-Fi and fantasy worlds as they were. I was the girl who preferred books to people because books were safe and you could always rely on them to take you into another world.
With my obvious love, no, passion, desire, hunger for books the day that I discovered that I could get a degree in reading (by becoming an English major) was a very exciting day. And now here I am, living the dream only now I don't read.
Looking back trying to figure out what happened I instinctively blame my studies. In the past 4 years I already have to do so much reading for university that any reading outside of my degree is limited to magazines (what up high school girls). But if I'm honest the reason I read less now is because I'm lazy. I would way prefer to spend an afternoon on our couch watching The Style Network or E! or anything really trashy and exciting than doing something as strenuous as reading Charles Dickens (something my teenage self would have laughed at).
Enter my very patient and long-suffering husband, the reading champion, the man who has read 30 books this year so far. For almost 3 years he has gently nudged me to read, clearing my dish-washing schedule, making a set reading time for both of us, giving me books he thinks i'll enjoy, encouraging me to "talk literature" with him. But I've been more set in my television watching ways than either of us anticipated.
But then something happened. This week I read this post: http://sixtywinters.wordpress.com/2013/07/29/things-i-lovewantneed-right-now/ and was inspired. Not even the whole post, just the first part. To see how many books someone can read when they make time for it because they love it made me want to immediately change my tv slob ways.
Today I begin a new book. And I'm excited about it, I haven't had a new book in a month and a half. Hopefully this re-kindled passion will set me on the road to becoming an english major that my child and teenage self would have been proud of.
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