I’ve always loved reading. As far back as I can remember, books were my favourite way to escape reality. With a few pages, I could step into whatever world I wanted. When I was a child, I couldn’t get enough of non-fiction. We were lucky enough to have the full set of The Children’s Encyclopaedia at home and I used to love spending my days getting stuck into everything from dinosaurs to ancient cities. The wonder I would feel when learning about things I had never seen or touched or felt before, it really did feel unbeatable. Then when I got older, I delved into all the fiction stories – crime, mystery, romance, fantasy, drama… you name it, I read it.
But a few years ago, reading became less interesting. Every now and then I’d pick up a great book and I would get sucked back in, but it was short-lived. The books started to become few and far between. Then about a year ago, they pretty much just stopped altogether. Reading started to feel more like a chore. Another thing I had to do. It no longer felt fun.
I couldn’t understand it. I had spent close to 30 years buried in books and all of a sudden I felt like I wasn’t interested anymore. I used to enjoy books more than I enjoyed people at times. It was upsetting to me because aside from cooking and the occasional writing, reading was my “thing.” And when you lose your “thing,” especially in your 30’s, it really can throw you for a loop, you know? Like what hobbies do I have now? What else do I like if this is not my thing anymore? I know it sounds so trivial, but for me it really did make me wonder about myself.
But the interesting thing was, when I truly started to think about it, I realised it wasn’t the reading itself that I struggled with. It was the whole setting aside time for myself that I was struggling with. I had gone through so much change and growth over the last few years, (the past year in particular), and I realised I was in survival mode for a good portion of it. It’s not that I didn’t want to read, specifically. It was that in the back of my mind I felt like my time could always be better spent doing something else. Working towards something. Ticking off my ever growing to-do list and trying to reach my life goals.
It’s not until earlier this year that I had a deeper look at what my needs and wants truly were, that I realised that I didn’t need to be more productive. I didn’t need to add more things to my to-do list. I actually needed to carve out more time to not be productive, per se. It’s too easy to stay busy and set goals and do ALL THE THINGS ALL THE TIME, but none of that really matters or feels satisfying to complete, unless I felt good within myself. Unless I took care of myself. Until I started truly participating in activities that filled me up so that I had the mental, physical and emotional capacity to reach those desired goals of mine. Insert that cheesy quote about not pouring from an empty cup – I know it’s so cliche, but my god, it’s so true.
So after all that reflection, I set myself two New Year’s resolutions / goals / “in’s” / whatever you want to call them, and they were to read more, and take myself out for coffee or lunch dates more often (because food, coffee and books always seem to go well together). I knew those two things historically always filled my cup and I knew I had to make time for them and make them a priority again.
I am happy to report that I have stuck to my word and I have already read 7 books this year and it’s only March. I’ve also taken myself out for solo coffee/lunch dates a few times as well. I am also so thankful to have found a REALLY good book series to start off on which absolutely helped me get back on the horse and find joy in reading again (which I will be doing a full review of soon!).
I guess I shared this story (pardon the book pun) in the hopes that if you have been struggling to find some downtime, feeling a bit off, or just not “you,” that you get the chance to sit and reflect on your needs, your wants, what fills your cup, and are able to rediscover the things that bring you joy again!
Laura x