Curled up, one arm propping up my head, perhaps a blanket draped over me and the current favourite book in hand.
As a child, teenager and young adult this was my default and preferred position. I inhaled books, lived through their characters, learned from the words I so ravenously read.
But, as life has become more busy, the pile of books to read has grown and my reading rate declined. The characters no less lovable, the plots no less poignant, the passion for reading no less alive. I’ve made a resolution to reverse this trend.
It’s time to turn off the TV, take a few minutes under the shady tree and make more time to read. I’ve joined a book club – well two actually – so there’s something compelling me to read books that aren’t just comfortable old favourites. I’m reading more blogs and non-fiction too.
As a child, my Saturday mornings were spent at the library with my siblings choosing books to get us through the week. When did I let that beautiful ritual slip off the radar? Why?
My mission to focus more on the little things has inevitably led me back to the bookshelf. It’s time to lose ourselves in worlds that challenge us, enthrall us, encourage us to grow and, most importantly, think about the world around us. An added benefit is that the writer in me is coming alive once more, inspired by what I read and see.