I love to read. As in, I could spend all day reading and would if only I could find someone to pay me to do it. Seriously, any ridiculously rich person out there willing to pay me to read? I’ll give you book reports.
I have been a reader since childhood. Mom used to find me lying in a patch of sun in the pasture, using our rottweiler Tasha as a pillow, lost in a book while cows and goats grazed around us. (Sounds bucolic, right?) Other times she’d wake up at four in the morning and my door would be cracked and the dim light of my lamp would be shining out into the hall. When she peeked in my door she’d fine one of three things: me hunched over a book, me asleep face down in a book, or me sleeping with the light on because I was reading Stephen King at way too young of an age.
Is it any surprise that I majored in English in college? It’s not a particularly useful degree, per se, but I was certainly exposed to a lot of material I otherwise wouldn’t have been and I truly believe it expanded my worldview in a way that helped positively shape me as a human being. Reading instilled in me an understanding of adventure and possibility and wonder that helped make me brave enough to live out of the country twice without batting an eye.
As an adult literature serves both as an educator and a means of escape. I can get lost in a story and forget my troubles for a while, or I can read about the struggles of others and understand the world I live in a bit better. Books are amazing things.
There is a book list from the BBC going around on Facebook this week. The BBC is estimating that the average person has only read six. I’ve read forty-two. I guess this just means that I still have a lot of reading to do. You can check out the list here:
BBC Book List
What are you reading?