As a journalist, reading is a huge part of my job. I spend hours each day absorbing articles, staying informed, and supporting fellow writers. Ironically, while proficient in reading for work, I struggled to read for pleasure. For years, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up a book for fun. This isn’t about the mechanics of reading – decoding words and understanding syntax. It’s about re-learning how to engage with literature without the pressure of deadlines or academic scrutiny.
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My early years were filled with a voracious appetite for books. I devoured stories well beyond my grade level. However, the demanding curriculum of high school and college, with its dense texts and lengthy papers, extinguished my love for reading. Reading became a chore, associated with stress and impending deadlines.
Confessing a dislike for reading felt like a cardinal sin, especially in journalism. An encounter with a New York Times editor, who condescendingly dismissed my admission, reinforced this feeling. For years, I avoided the topic or resorted to lies, pretending to be a book lover while secretly dreading the very idea. I even found myself in book club Slack channels, completely lost in conversations about authors I’d never read.
Eventually, I stopped pretending but justified my aversion with the excuse of “not having time.” While partially true, the reality was that I prioritized other activities over reading. TV shows, errands, even naps, seemed more appealing than picking up a book.
I knew I was taking my reading comprehension skills for granted. I yearned for the joy of immersing myself in a narrative, an experience others often described with such enthusiasm. A turning point came a few months ago when a friend introduced me to “75 Medium,” a fitness challenge that included a daily 10-minute reading or personal development commitment.
Skipping the “self-help” route, I dusted off The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, a book I’d abandoned on page 25 back in 2020. I started with the intention of merely fulfilling the 10-minute requirement. Surprisingly, I found myself captivated. Instead of rushing, I savored each word, rereading impactful lines, and letting my imagination wander. My initial 10-minute session effortlessly stretched into 20.
This shift in mindset proved transformative. I abandoned the pressure of finishing quickly and embraced a slower, more immersive approach. My 10-minute daily reading sessions organically evolved into 30 minutes, then an hour. The anxiety of approaching reading as an academic assignment vanished, replaced by genuine enjoyment. I discovered that 10 minutes, while insufficient for a nap or errand, was the perfect amount of time to lose myself in a book.
Learning to read again wasn’t about mastering phonics or grammar; it was about rediscovering the pleasure of reading without the pressure. It was about reclaiming the joy I once felt as a child, lost somewhere between demanding syllabi and looming deadlines. It was about realizing that reading, like any worthwhile pursuit, requires intentionality and a willingness to slow down and savor the experience.
