For someone whose livelihood depends on reading, I read few books in 2018 – so few that I had a meltdown and immediately decided to make a shorter TBR list from my never-ending pile of TBR to help focus the reading in 2019.
All was going well. I spent a wonderful December picking and choosing 18 books that I thought I should read in 2019. I tried to mix them up a little, add different genres, different authors, and I thought I had a good repository. When I shared the list with my friends, I was rather proud and couldn’t wait for 2019 to begin so I could take a stab at the list.
Now one of the books on my list I had purchased in 2018 but couldn’t get to it so I thought I’d begin 2019 with it. I tried reading it 2-3 times and found I just couldn’t concentrate. Another meltdown later – this time around the fact that I had perhaps forgotten how to read which went onto what is wrong with me, followed by Netflix sucks, further followed by at least I am doing something for my creativity, even if it’s watching shows – I decided to pick up a book which I knew I could finish, I knew wouldn’t require too much emotional investment and would tide me through the slump I seemed to find myself in.
And that led to the discovery that reading for me had changed since I was 16. Yes there was a time I could finish a book in 2 days. I could stay up until 6 finishing a book. I could read 5 books in a month. But I had to accept I could no longer do it. Not only because I had so many other distractions – major one being writing itself – but also because I now had limited time in which to pay attention, to all those distractions.
I had changed and so it was necessary for this habit of mine to evolve with me. I realized every book has its time and you may own a book for close to 3 years, bemoaning how you haven’t read it still, it looking accusingly at you, you worried if you’ll ever be able to read it only to realize when you do finally get to it, it is the right time and space and you actually love it.
It is hard for a reader, a writer, someone who has found escape in books all through childhood to realize reading isn’t what it used to be. It has matured with you and though you still find escape in them, it is okay to use tricks so your mind can concentrate on reading.
This journey of rediscovery has been interesting so far and the only thing I am trying to tell myself is – this is not a race and every book has its own time and it’ll make sense to you when it finally comes to you – exactly like the story that won’t leave your mind, and yet won’t come out on paper like you want.
tales of Suchita 
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