Honestly, I have had a hard time getting into reading anything for about 18 months. I'm closing in on two years since my dissertation defense now, and I'm finally getting back into reading.
Oh, it's not that I never read anything, of course. I get four different professional journals, and I always skim through each of them when they arrive, and read an article or two that really catches my attention. I get WIRED magazine, and I eventually always read through each issue--though I still have the December, January, and February issues on my nightstand...and I'm not yet finished with the December issue. I read a few novels in my hammock in the summer. And I still read quite a bit online, usually profession-related things from EdWeek, or things I find on Twitter. And I do read and re-read articles and chapters for writing projects I have ongoing.
But truth be told, until very recently, I haven't found as much joy in reading. I haven't been really reading for pleasure very often since I started my doctoral work in 2013. Of course, while I was in grad school, so much of my reading time was taken up with reading for class or for my own research. But in the almost two years since defending my dissertation, I haven't gravitated back to reading for pleasure.
Today I'm thinking about why this might be the case.
It's weird; I have always been a super-reader, ever since I learned how. Weekly trips to the library were a staple at our house growing up, and I usually checked out 10 or 12 books each time we went. Early in our married life, I remember my wife wondering how I could have three or four different books going all at the same time, because this was often my go-to approach. Even while our kids were little and I was crazy busy with many different things going on in my life, I still usually read for pleasure for at least 30 minutes a day.
So why have I not been drawn back to reading?
I think that part of the situation is that I have gotten into the habit of picking up my phone instead of picking up a book. I'll scroll on Twitter or play a game for 20 minutes in those times when I used to grab the novel I was reading, or the magazine I had left on the side table by the couch. Honest truth: I'm not really proud to admit how much that little glowing screen pulls at my attention. Habits are powerful; while in grad school, I thought of those phone breaks as just that: breaks from the work of both teaching and learning. But it became a habit for me, and I still haven't fully broken that habit.
While the magnetic pull of my phone is part of this situation, I think the bigger part is how I've conditioned myself to approach reading over the years I was in grad school. Rather than reading for pleasure, I was always reading with purpose. There was always some reason I had to be reading, whether for an assignment in course I was taking, or for preparation for a class I was teaching, or background research for an article or paper I was writing, or even purposeful recreational reading that I scheduled in. I know, that sounds crazy to me too.
It's not that I haven't read with purpose before. For several years now I've put "Reading and Writing" on my weekly calendar at work, to be purposeful about keeping up with what's going on in my field. When I was doing my Master's degree, I read with purpose. When I want to learn something new--even in my recreation--that's often reading with purpose. Making time for reading the Bible is a discipline, and I would say that is reading with purpose as well.
And about a decade ago, when I was going through a really dry place in my spiritual walk, I read with purpose to try and find my way back to a faith-filled life. This was purposeful reading too, and it was hard. It was a season of life when I was hurt by church, angry at church. Looking back, I can see
that my wrestling really was an important part of taking the next step in my faith life, but at the time, I was hurting and angry, and reading purposefully to try and move through it.
So I read through the Psalms. (Lots of good laments and shaking-your-fist-at-the-heavens prayers there.) I read through minor prophets--Habakkuk is always a good one when you are are wrestling with faith. I read Paul's letters, giving advice on how to be the church together. I read James, which has some of the best practical advice for how to live out your faith that there is in the whole Bible. Along with reading scripture, I read a bunch of other books on Christian spirituality. I read classics by C. S. Lewis and Oswald Chambers. I read things from folks in the Emergent movement, like Brian McLaren and Rob Bell. Oh, and Donald Miller--Donald Miller was my guy. Searching for God Knows What, and Through Painted Deserts, and the one I found so supremely valuable, Blue Like Jazz.
It was reading with a purpose, and, looking back from 10 years on, it was valuable. I came around. It wasn't the only thing I read...but Blue Like Jazz in particular hit me where I needed to be hit, to help me get over myself, and learn to love my fellow believers, and in the process learn to love myself a little bit better as well.
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| Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller was an important read at a pivotal moment in my faith life. |
But here's the thing: this past week, I re-read Blue Like Jazz for the first time in quite a few years. This time, it was because I'm trying to get myself back in the habit of reading for pleasure for at least 30 minutes a day. And you know what? Re-reading this one brought me back to remembering how I felt in those desert days of my faith. Not that I feel that way again today, but I remember so clearly how certain chapters hit me. (In particular, chapter 5, which is whimsically titled "Faith: Penguin Sex," and chapter 11: "Confession: Coming Out of the Closet," and chapter 14: "Alone: Fifty-Three Years in Space." It's pretty great, really.)
This is the weird part of my story, I think. Re-reading Blue Like Jazz this week was purposeful reading to try and help me get back to reading for pleasure, and in the process I remembered how purposeful reading helped me in the past, and all of this made the read very pleasurable now.
Reading with purpose to help me learn to read for pleasure again.
Reading for pleasure helping me remember how to read with purpose.
Reading with purpose ending up as reading for pleasure.
Habits are powerful. Maybe I need to commit to continue to reading with purpose to ensure that I'll keep reading for pleasure? How does that sound?
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