Navel Gazing Log: Thursday, August 25, 2022, 7:42 PM
When I decided to drop out of college, my husband asked me what I would like to do with my life instead of teach. My first instinct was to say that I had no idea. My second instinct was that I would love to pursue writing. This is a desire that Iâve stifled for a while.
Iâve been a reader for a long time. What qualifies someone as a reader? Is someone a reader as soon as they learn how to read? When they start reading books at school? When they finally take a book home and read it for fun? Iâd say my âreading journeyâ began when I was in the fourth (or fifth?) grade.
I had just made a new friend (one who would end up being my best friend all the way up through high school) that year and she inspired me to read more. She always carried a book with her and would recommend ones for me to read. I started checking some out at the library for myself. Tuck Everlasting, the Dear America book series, and Esperanza Rising, just to name a few. I didnât always finish these books, but I liked them, and I really liked the way they made me look and feel smart.
Sixth grade was when I really became obsessed with reading. I found the YA genre and dove in headfirst. I read The Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices, The Hunger Games, Divergent, and countless other series. Every day after school I would walk to the library and read until my mom picked me up. It got to a point where my punishments for grounding would be to take away whatever book I was infatuated with at the time.
As time passed, however, my obsession with reading faded. By the time I reached high school, I barely ever read for fun anymore. I traded in my library card for social media, and my time alone reading for hanging out with my friends. I still read every now and then, but mostly just for school. If anything, school widened the distance between me and books. I hated reading Shakespeare, and the more they forced me to read things that didnât match my interests, the less likely I was to pick up books in my free time.
I canât remember exactly how I got back into reading. The summer before my first year at college, I read an adult romance novel (something I had never done before; anything besides YA was immediately labeled as boring) and it swept me off my feet. The novel was The Hating Game by Sally Thorne, and I loved it. The main character was more similar to myself than the young adult protagonists from the dystopian series I used to relate to. The romantic tension and the spice, oh, the spice. I was hooked all over again.
School didnât allow me much time to read, especially that first year at college. But the next school year I decided to take a leave of absence, and my reading skyrocketed. This might not seem like much to other readers, but for the first time in years (or maybe ever) I had read 19 books in one year. I was so proud of myself.
I went back to schoolâa different school, and a different major, but school, nonetheless. Once again, I itched to spend all my time reading, but I hardly did if class was in session.
Now, Iâm a college dropout (well, not officially; I have some more emails to send). All the time in the world is in my hands. The sky is the limit. So, what will I do? Is it time to finally take up writing as a hobby, after years of making excuses and putting off? Is it even possible for me to write anything like the books I've come to love so much? How does one even begin? I guess it's time to find out.
