Reading

A passion I have long held that, after junior high, I failed to pursue. Not to say that I didn't read books in high school, however, most of those books failed to touch me as my own choice of reading did. Consider, however, that my own choice of reading was not a Danielle Steele novel or a sci-fi epic based on the Halo universe, but rather, Sherlock Holmes, Mein Kampf, Cities in Flight, Wraethu.

It hasn't been until recently, and by recent, I mean this past weekend, that I have been able to sit down, or lie down in this case, and really read a book for a good portion of time. I was at the beach, if you must know, lying on a towel with the waves breaking softly against the shore and a cool breeze blowing the heat of the sun away. I also had the good fortune to be one of perhaps a dozen beach goers, which makes for a very peaceful surrounding.

I was at the beach that day for three hours and I luxuriously read six chapters of my book before I decided to leave. But, it wasn't the fact that I read a book that was remarkable; what was remarkable is what that three hours did for me. It made me feel like the weekend had been a week. It made me feel like I had lived a very long time in a very short time. Time passed slower and the world seemed to slow down and linger for a bit so that I may enjoy it.

Back to the grind of work, cell phones, computers, TV, video games, driving, eating, driving, working, a few hours of sleep, and work again. How quick Monday disappeared into Tuesday. And lo, I've left my book in the car; a chapter at lunch might be nice. And here I am, an hour later or is it a day?

I have a clear memory or a clear perception of my childhood being very long and my high school and college years being very short. I would venture to guess this is due to reading. When I was a child, my father read The Hobbit to me. I believe I was four or five. I was transfixed since then, images of dragons and epic battles playing out in my dreams and in my head. I desperatly wanted to learn to read and by the time I was in fifth grade, I was reading Sherlock Holmes and Goosebumps and Mossflower. Reading was my vice and it often came ahead of my studies.

However, as I got older and entered high school, other vices came and more demanding studies. Friends began eating up time, video games, homework, and required reading that was as dull as the book shelf it had come from. Required reading that inspired nothing inside of me and was purely academic. This is what, I believe, ruined reading for me. For now, reading was a chore, a grating task that took my love and turned it into hatred.

I stopped reading for pleasure then and consumed myself with electronic and human vices. And high school passed quickly, and so did college. In my mind, my years in college and high school were very short and my childhood is stretched out and long like a length of taffy. Now again, I have rediscovered a childhood love and all the joy and time bending principles it once brought me.

In consideration of all of this, I have come to the realization that I live so fast with my electronics and my 3g network that the simple stagnant medium of an ink stained piece of paper might slow me up enough to enjoy the moment. While my video games and my TV might provide enjoyment, they are too fast and before you know it, an hour has gone by and I'm still moving at the speed of light.