I love reading. It’s in part, how I ended up as an English major. My dad instilled the virtues of reading within my sister and I from a very young age. From reading bedtime bible stories to Curious George to Miss Spider, I loved the time my dad and I shared at exploring new worlds together. As I got older, my dad and I would spend hours either at the library or at Waldenbooks inside Metro North Mall (if any of you remember that little slice of nostalgia). I consumed books as if my life depended on it and that didn’t really change until I got to college.
During my college career, I noticed there was a bit of a shift in how I looked at reading, I was an English major and I was in love with being an English major. But the problem with taking four English classes a semester is…that you’re taking four English classes in a semester. I was still enjoying what I was reading, but by the time I had graduated, I realized that I had no desire to read at all. I guess you could say I went through an academic burn out.
About a year ago, that itch to read came back. I just woke up one day hungry to read. Perhaps, you could say it was a slow shift in mindset that did it or you could say it was just a feeling. Either way, I was ready to dive into a book, seek inspiration and explore new worlds and realities. But I didn’t just want a book, I wanted a book. One that I could physically hold in my hand, feel the slight roughness of the page brush against my fingertips, and, of course, release that familiar book-y musk that has come to remind me of my childhood.Continue reading