In third grade, my teacher finally pushed me to read something other than Amelia Bedelia or Junie B. Jones and I started The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Reading had always been one of my strengths, and I enjoyed the silly, comprehensible characters of the books I read, but had not yet come across anything like the complexity of the characters and setting of the first Chronicles of Narnia novel. I remember being hooked from the beginning, drawn in by the adventures that normal children took part in once placed in a fantastical world.
Fourth grade was when I started the Harry Potter series, which was certainly a momentous event. I grew up alongside Harry, Ron, and Hermione as I read through the novels at my slow pace, taking in and trying to memorize every captivating detail, up until the last few pages, which I held off reading for days, devastated that the magic would be over. Throughout middle school and the beginning of high school, I read anything I could get my hands on. I got lost in the adventures of the characters I grew to know like friends, and found myself fighting alongside Percy Jackson and Katniss Everdeen.
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When I got to the point in school when homework and extra curriculars took up all of my time, my pleasure reading was put on hold. I made reading lists and told myself that I would return to them in the summer, when I had more free time. However, summer came and went and often not one of the books of my list would get checked off. In my free solitary moments, I started to choose watching a show or browsing the Internet rather than picking up a book. I continued to enjoy reading the assigned novels of my English classes and even decided to become an English major. Yet, halfway through high school all the way up until this summer, I really hadn't read much other than assigned reading. I'm not sure if this was because I got my fill of reading in my numerous English classes and wanted to spend my free time on other things (which I am ashamed to think when I remember my previous self, devouring book after book for enjoyment). Or perhaps it was due in part to the growing Netflix culture, where watching almost any show you want is as simple as logging in and pressing play, and you're able to watch a story unfold in the perfect episode timeframe of 42 minutes. This is quicker and easier than becoming invested in a novel, which for me, takes at least several days to finish. For whatever reason, my reading list started to seem more like a chore than a delight.
This past semester, I took a class, Modern British Fiction, that had nine required readings over the 13 week period. This required me to read 100-200 pages for each class, something for which I quickly realized I didn't have remotely enough time. At my slow pace, I ended up reading only portions of each novel, which continued to frustrate me. By the end of the semester, I realized that I really enjoyed many of these novels, and wanted to go back and read them again when I had time to do more than skim them. I added them to my list and frowned at how long it had become. So this summer, my personal goal is to tackle my long-abandoned reading list. I have successfully completed one novel so far, which reminded me of the joy of reading for pleasure I hadn't felt in a long time. This gives me hope that I will fall back in love with reading again and continue to choose it over the more immediate gratifications of Netflix or Youtube. There is an immense sense of accomplishment when you finish a good book that is unlike any other feeling. It requires a moment of silent contemplation and reflection that is so much more fulfilling than the more straightforward results of many TV shows. I encourage other lost readers like me to pick up a book on your reading list because chances are, you too miss the feeling of getting lost in another world, more detailed and captivating than anything but a novel can provide.
