“You must love to read!”
When I told people I was planning on majoring in English, this comment, or some variation of it, was the second most common response. While slightly more desirable than a potentially well-meaning but ultimately condescending “What do you plan to do with that?”, it still sent me into a state of panic.
The worst of it was Christmas 2019, the last time I saw my extended family before the pandemic set in, when I probably had the same conversation about my college plans 15 times. I was a junior in high school, and it was essentially impossible to have a conversation with an adult without them asking what I was thinking of majoring in. Whenever the subject came up and I was inevitably questioned about the books I was reading, I would laugh it off and rush to change the subject, because for a long time, I didn’t have a good response. I was about to start the rest of my life as an English major and, at that point, I hadn’t read a book for fun in years.
As the oldest child in my family, I was the test subject of all the parenting theories and tips my mom read in magazines made specifically for anxious new mothers. They had varying degrees of success, but I believe the method that benefited me the most to this day was her practice of reading to me as much as possible, essentially since the day I was born, to help foster my future reading skills.
Reading became a staple activity in our house throughout my childhood, filling my memories with images of me begging my parents to read just one more chapter before I went to bed and the temper tantrums my younger sister had because she was jealous that I learned to read by myself before she did. I always had a book with me throughout elementary school and had to be reading something, bringing them with me everywhere from the kitchen table during breakfast to the pharmacy while running errands with my mom. The pattern continued until around when I started middle school. I could blame my busier schedule, my first smartphone, the mental and social pressure that comes with being a teenager or any number of causes, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t reading for fun anymore.
For the most part, I kept up with all my required reading throughout school. I did well in my English classes and I loved to write, so it’s not like my choice in major came out of nowhere, but my interest really didn’t continue outside of the classroom. I tried to pick up books again several times a year to no avail, usually resulting in half an hour of frustration with myself for not being able to focus before the book was back on the shelf. I still struggle with a short attention span, and the hours I have spent scrolling through 15-second videos on social media have probably not helped. However, social media was the double-edged sword in my relationship with reading, as it also played a large role in getting me back into it.
I had always hoped that I would someday get back into reading, and tried to stay on top of what books were popular to be familiar with up-and-coming authors. When a video about books would come up on my For You Page on TikTok or I’d see a book review account on Instagram, I would interact with the post, meaning over time more and more content like that made its way onto my feed. I scrolled through recommendations, reviews, hauls of the books people were buying, jokes I couldn’t understand because I hadn’t read the book they were referencing. Eventually, the usually toxic part of my brain that makes me compare myself to everyone I see on social media actually worked in my favor, and I wanted to be able to relate to these people again and participate in the conversation. So when I was presented with an abundance of free time in March 2020, I decided that my goal for the pandemic was to rekindle my love for reading.
I obviously didn’t immediately start going through a book a week, but I did try to start putting consistent effort and time into reading. I’ve always heard that it takes 21 days to develop a habit and while I don’t know the exact research behind this claim, I do think that almost everything gets easier every day when you’re doing it regularly. I started with rereading the books I loved in childhood that, while not as challenging as the books my teachers would have probably expected me to be reading, still hold up. Then I read some of the most popular books I’d see recommended on social media and eventually found what interested me personally and started to read more and more in my free time.
I have found that, especially online, people can get a little pretentious about what they read and how challenging or obscure it is, but especially when you’re just starting out and trying to have fun you won’t get anywhere by forcing yourself to read something you won’t enjoy or understand. I still frequent the “YA” section of my library, maybe even more than the adult fiction or classics. I read for myself.
When I looked through the comments of those same videos that inspired me to start reading more, I saw so many people expressing similar sentiments about how they wish they never outgrew their interest in reading. I can say from experience that it’s never too late to fall back into a habit or pick up something new entirely. I still spend more time on my phone than I would like to, but I now try to make time every day to read for fun. While I will probably never again have the time to read like I did when I was 10, I’m proud of myself for getting out of my eight-year-long slump. We all have to start somewhere.