Too Busy to Read
“The result of busyness is that an individual is very seldom permitted to form a heart.”
-Soren Kierkegaard
In the slow hours of childhood, I formed a heart through reading. I asked for books for birthdays and Christmases. I spent whole day reading books. As a homeschooled kid, I was particularly advantaged. I did not have to sacrifice grades or sleep for a good book. Good books were my education. (And maybe less high quality literature that I read instead of doing math). My comfort and pride was in being a reader.
But then college came, and it seemed that all time for reading evaporated. Ironic, since I was an English major. The entire reason I came to Calvin was books! Of course, I didn’t abandon literature entirely. I read for my classes; books and scripts and articles. I threw myself into extracurriculars in the English department, surrounding myself with reading. Yet, somehow, despite my mounting pile of books, I seemed to read less and less. My yearly list of books began to shrink—particularly the list that didn’t include assigned course readings. My spare time was filled with friends, laundry, and sleep. In the scattered moments between class and homework, I either caught up on emails or scrolled Instagram.
Despite having surrounded myself with writing and reading, in the busyness of college, my time for restful reading evaporated. I had become too busy to read. And in the process I lost the very thing that formed my heart and fed my soul.
Could I still call myself a reader when I didn’t… read? It’s a question I know I am not alone in. For the college age, the line between personal and academic life can become razor thing, sometimes disappearing entirely. It can become difficult to justify any form of personal pleasure, particularly one that consumes as much time as reading a book.
I wondered at the toll of not being able to read as much as I once had. Books give us imagination, catharsis, and fuel our curiosity. Without that tool, I found these traits in my own self beginning to wane. I have heard of book lovers who have thrown themselves into English majors and then later into entire careers revolving around books. And yet, they themselves don’t often read for pleasure; they no longer have the time. And I didn’t feel far off from such a fate myself. It felt like I became more and more off balanced. Even when I did take the time for a break, I was often too exhausted to pick up a book.
Books do not allow “quick rest”—fifteen minutes spent on Instagram or a meal. Books are long rest; the kind that forces you to settle in.
In the bustle of life, and even in the bustle to fit self care into those busy lives, we forget to give ourselves enough space to grow our hearts. We forget to rest long, to feed our souls. We forget books. Reading, which can be as important as friends, sleeping, and washing your sheets. Books force us to slow down, be still, and be present. They urge us to gather back our fraying thoughts, settle into a comfortable spot, and take pleasure in a moment. A resistance of instantaneous pleasure and results. Books do not allow “quick rest”—fifteen minutes spent on Instagram or a meal. Books are long rest; the kind that forces you to settle in.
While I am thankful for the busyness in my life, the busyness which stems from the deep love I have for the books that formed my heart, I strive to make a better practice of building in long rest, and learn to recognize when my seasons of busyness lead me to neglect my own soul needs. For example, I’ve just picked up Ariel Lawhon’s latest novel, The Pirate Queen, and I cannot wait to dig in!
