A journey of one hundred-ish books begins with a single page. Last year, I set an intention to read one novel per month. Over the past few years, I have slowly, but definitely, grown in the area of resolution-keeping, thanks to the application of the useful, practical advice I’ve gained from people wiser (and more productive) than myself. So while I’ve gotten used to keeping a significant number of my resolutions/intentions/”whatyoumacallems,” I am, regrettably, unfamiliar with exceeding them. Or, at least I was, until last year.
I used to read voraciously as child and teenager. I’d devour new novels as soon as I got them; the more exciting the plot, the faster I read. I would reread my favourites multiple times. I wanted to read them more slowly so that I could appreciate more deeply the care with which my beloved authors crafted their stories. I wanted to savour their turns of phrase, descriptions, literary devices and beautiful use of words. I wanted to spend time with my favourite characters and feel their emotions alongside them. However I also wanted to satiate the desire to read, even when I had no new books. Such was my love for reading.
Then along came studying while working, streaming services, social media, and just general adulthood things. If I said that my love for reading died, that would be grossly untrue. I still bought books. I still read books. But I read less frequently. I forgot what it was like to get so absorbed in a story that I’d be almost irritated when I had to put the book down. I forgot what it was like to pause in order to re-read the exquisitely written paragraph so I could savour the beauty of expression therein. I forgot, but I desperately wanted to remember.
Perhaps that is why I was able to exceed my own expectations in such a spectacular fashion. After the first few books, my passion for reading was reignited. There was no need for me to track my reading; as I finished one novel I automatically looked for another. Then I decided to become a Kindle girlie and that took my reading to another level. I’m not even sure how many books I read last year…my last count was around sixty, and even then, there were a few months left in 2023.
It was an interesting journey of rediscovery. I began the year wondering if somehow I had outgrown my passion for reading. I clearly still liked and valued reading, but I was deeply afraid that I was no longer an avid reader. I wondered if I could still lose myself thoroughly in the pages of a good book. Now, I can say with confidence, that this passion is a part of me that I cannot outgrow, nor do I want to. Words will always mean a lot to me. I continue to find solace and joy within the pages of a good book, and I am grateful for the journey that led me back to one of my happy places. So if you ever see me in a coffeeshop reading, you can be certain that, in that moment, I am indescribably, undoubtedly and incandescently happy.
Peace, love and sparkles
The Unicorn of Awesomeness
Shespeaksandwrites 