Why is reading the first thing to go?

A reader’s ruminations and examinations of why it is so damn hard sometimes to prioritize reading

Me in bed, theoretically | by Tomoko Hara

In the past eight weeks, I haven’t finished one book. Zip. Zero. Nada.

To compare, in the first four months of the year, I read 20 books. I know that is not quite as much as others on this app or in the wider world, of course, but I find it a respectable showing.

The mystery as to why I haven’t been able to read is a non-starter. Across my two jobs, since April, I’ve worked close to 60-70 hours a week, as both my 9-5 and part-time job are in their busiest season of the year. I work mornings and evenings and weekends, none of which are ideal nor conducive to a girl with hobbies.

The mystery for me, rather, is why, in the list of time-consuming priorities of my life, is reading the first thing to go?

There is a certain guilt in even admitting that, as I am someone who deeply considers herself a reader. I have always been a reader, and I have spent the past few years writing about books on the internet, sharing my thoughts and opinions with others. Maybe admitting that I am not always great at reading shouldn’t feel this much like a fault, but in an environment where the monotony of the recommendations can be a little grating, I consider my small corner of the internet with a slightly different outlook a responsibility.

Perhaps I am taking a simple question and making it unnecessarily complex, but when I have to give up reading, I have to give up that little chunk of responsibility and joy for myself.

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On a macro level, the crux of the issue is that all time is negotiated. In our society, it is segmented into blocks that exist beyond my and your control, and choices as well as compromises on time spent on self versus time spent on labor must be made. The additional pressures of the digital age: the constant influx of unnecessary, unchosen information, the perennial availability of additional sources of entertainment, and the ceaseless presence of others amounts to a culture that is not exactly favorable to deep, meaningful engagement with the comparatively quiet power of literature.

All this aside, I can still accept my role in this is somewhat self-inflicted. However, I am not going to give up my part-time gig that I love, sleeping (sue me), or the effort and intention behind eating healthy, as time-consuming as those necessities can be. I’ve done it before, and I won’t again.

Rather, I choose to give up my main hobby of reading. What I find interesting though, is that when I am overworked and overstimulated, the entertainment that replaces reading are rewatches of things I loved as a kid and still love now: Miyazaki movies, Avatar the Last Airbender, and Young Justice, to name a few. I realize this is a deeply uncool thing to do. It would be cool to say I give up all other forms of media ahead of foreswearing the written word, but that would be a fat lie.

If anything, I reach for these types of media even more in these moments of stress. The familiarity in the rhythm of comfort media helps balance the discomfort I feel when the rituals of my life are somewhat uneven. I find it infinitely easier to reach for these old friends for the 20 spare minutes I may have then to push myself to engage with a work of writing I may not be able to pick back up for days or even weeks.

When I am well-rested and working normal hours, I feel that I have the time to indulge in the ritual of reading—a cup of tea, a sunny window, hours to be lost to a good book. When I’m not, the act of reading can feel like a waste of time.

Even writing that sentence, a part of me leaps and lurches to resist it. No time spent reading can ever be wasted, in theory.

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Generally, I am someone who enjoys reading on my commute a great deal; a relatively uninterrupted 45 minutes to try and do something a bit more productive and fun than simply listening to music. But lately, even that feels like too much. For one, I use that time to respond to family and friends’ messages asking You good, girl? as well as rogue work emails I have left either to the morning or the evening. Yet I also think I avoid reading during moments of stress because it somehow feels like a waste. If I’m not truly absorbing what I am reading, if I’m not learning or reflecting or thinking very much at all, if I’m not even having fun, then for whatever reason, I feel like it is better if I just stare into space, people watch, and try to reclaim some peace than read superficially.

I see people on the train who have a hardback or paperback or Kindle in hand, and see just how engrossed they are with what they are reading. I envy that they can disassociate from this noisy, crowded commute and transport themselves into a literary world, and in that moment, I feel ashamed I’m not tough enough or aware enough to do the same. There is a certain sense, much like I feel like with exercise, that I should be pushing myself to do more or to be disciplined with my reading.

Others find reading challenging too. The difficulty of sitting and completing a book in our fast-paced, digitized, capitalist-driven world for just about everyone isn’t lost on me.

But I think, in some subliminal part of my brain, really what I am doing is trying to protect myself. I work really hard. I don’t want something I love to feel like work, too.

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So, yes, reading is the first thing to go. I don’t know if I can change that, or if I really have offered any productive thoughts as to why that is. Yet I do find some comfort that even if reading is the first thing to go, in all of the additional things I could be doing with my time, it is also the first thing that comes back.

As I am writing this, I am house-sitting in Bath on a rainy weekend, my first normal one in a while. I’m watching my boyfriend play fetch with the dog we are caring for through a bay window, and I’ve got nothing planned except a brunch with friends.

After I schedule to publish this, I am going to sit down and finish Shelf Life by Nadia Wassef.

I’m so curious to hear your thoughts—do you all reckon with the same feelings of reader guilt?

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