Anyone that knows me knows that I have a huge passion for reading and writing books. Like seriously, there are book series that I will not shut up about. However, when asked about my opinion of new novels and series, I’m quieter than the library. What’s up with that? Well, there are several factors that contribute to the complicated relationship I have with books: loss of passion for reading, other responsibilities and general fear. These definitely sound like reasons that stem from other deeply rooted issues, but they’re why I hesitate to pick up a new book.
In high school, I struggled with depression and didn’t have time to read (or so I told myself). My friends were all caught up with the newest books and would constantly talk about them, making me feel like I didn’t belong with them, since I wasn’t caught up. That was when my passion for books fizzled out, but it remained simmering on the backburner of my interests. I was also obsessed with marching band at this time, devoting all my time and energy to practice and competitions, leaving no room for other activities, besides homework. Truly a dull time.
After that whole period, I came to college, and that transition caused me not to be able to sit down and read, even though that’s what I really wanted to do. School consumed my life, but I was able to be excited about books, and I was reading them more, as there were more people that shared the same interests as I did and could appreciate the literary artistry. It was nostalgic and wonderful, but I was still quiet when they talked about more recent series, and I realized that I’m afraid to read the new stuff.
I had such a great relationship with books, in the past, but I also felt empty and disoriented, when I was finished reading. Thinking about reading new books for pleasure was slightly anxiety-inducing. My chest would feel tight, and I would contemplate whether or not the book would be worth reading. What if I wasted my time reading the book or realized, halfway through, that I didn’t like the story? I knew I would try to finish reading for the sake of finishing, but would I be satisfied?
I totally sound like someone that has been in terrible relationships and is hesitant to re-enter the dating scene, but, honestly, that’s exactly what’s happening. I don’t want to get hurt or waste my time reading something that I won’t enjoy or come to love eventually. I read for pleasure, definitely, but I also read to see which books will become permanent residents on my bookshelf.