Born-Again Bookworm

I was a bookworm my entire childhood.

As a kid, I'd stay up past my bedtime - flashlight in hand and the covers over my head - as I sneaked chapter after chapter.

As a tween, when the rest of my class would get caught playing with their Tamagotchi pets under their desks, I would be caught with a paperback in hand.

As a teen, the number one priority when it came to choosing a new purse wasn't the color, style, or designer - it was whether it could successfully house at least one hardcover.

But when college arrived with its pages and pages of daily mandatory reading (ah, the joys of a Jesuit education), I stopped. I probably have more toes than books I chose to read during those four years.

I expected to pick it up again once I graduated, after-all, I now had the time to read for pleasure rather than reading books like this. But I didn't. For three more years I'd start a book every now and then, but rarely have the interest to actually finish one.

My excuse reasoning was this:

Why would I read books when I had my iPhone to play with? Or TMZ to read? Or TV to watch? Heck, with DVR, Netflix, and Hulu Plus - there's always something to watch. And watching is easier than reading. I don't have to think. If I do want to think, I can play my bubble game while I watch. I can't play my bubble game while reading a book. Plus, I'm exhausted. Life makes me tired. If I read then I'll just fall asleep.

But then came my honeymoon - and relaxing by the pool with a book in one hand and a frozen Mai Tai in the other sounded pretty fun. I had heard of a series called The Hunger Games, which seemed somewhat appealing, so I bought the first book and shoved it in my suitcase.

To my surprise, that book transformed me back into the ravenous reader I once was - I devoured page after page. In fact, when I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom (multiple frozen Mai Tais will do that to you), I'd actually read a couple chapters before going back to bed.

Boy had I missed that feeling.

It didn't take me long to finish, and then I needed the sequel - stat! My poor husband drove me around the island searching for a bookstore until I found it - for $20. Though much cheaper on Amazon, I couldn't wait, and frugal Joe said he didn't mind me buying it (suurrree - but I didn't question it!).

After loving The Hunger Games so much, I started dabbling in other YA dystopian books. I found a few that I enjoyed, but I'd read them at a snail's pace.

I was back in "the real world" with my iPhone, TMZ, DVR, Netflix, Hulu Plus . . .

My brief stint as a born-again bookworm had passed.

I was better than I was in college, but not by much. People would refer to me as a reader and I'd feel like a fraud. And with all of my electronic distractions, I was starting to feel like I was going crazy (watching TV while playing the bubble game for hours a day will do that to you). My mind wouldn't stop. Frankly, it was making me depressed.

So last week I picked up a book and resolved to devote less time to bright colors on screens and more times to something that once was such a huge part of my life.

It took a little to get into, but last night I felt like that ravenous reader again. Mid-way through (The Maze Runner in case you are curious), I couldn't make myself stop. For two and a half hours, I was back to being that little girl in bed with the flashlight past her bedtime. When I finished, I couldn't wait to start the sequel.

It's one book, sure, but it feels different. I went to bed early to read, I actually read during daylight hours on the weekend, and I stayed up until midnight last night to finish it. That hasn't happened since The Hunger Games and, before that, since before college.

What a fool I have been to have given up something I love so much.

No longer.

Thanks The Maze Runner :)