The Story of How I Became an Avid Reader

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I hated reading through most of grade school.

The books they made us read were long, dumb, and boring.

But one book that I read in seventh grade, The Blue Sword, took me by surprise. Time flew by as I turned the pages, as if I was compelled to keep going. Lost in the story and wanted, no, needed to know what was going to happen.

When I finished it, I aced the test, and I didn’t even need to cheat using Sparknotes.

Later, I graduated high school without ever enjoying another book. I loathed reading. I dropped out of AP English, specifically because of the extra reading required.

My distaste for reading continued through most of college. I was too preoccupied with friends, partying, girls, and the occasional bout of schoolwork.

Over time though, I started meeting more people who enjoyed reading. They did it for leisure. For fun. I didn’t quite understand why.

Every once in a while, I’d think back to that book, The Blue Sword, and I’d think, “Maybe I don’t hate reading. Maybe I just hate the books I was forced to read.”

I’d ponder the thought for more than a few moments, but I still wasn’t ready to become a reader. Too many competing priorities stood in the way.

Then one night, after years of increasingly worsening anxiety attacks, I declined to go to a party with my friends. Instead, I had a nervous breakdown.

It wasn’t the first time I had experienced one. In the past, a bit of alcohol usually brought me down to baseline. Just one or two drinks and my anxiety slipped away. Numbed, the nights were full of fun and laughter, but the mornings and days after were solitary torture in my own skin.

That night in particular was different. The alcohol had lost its magic healing. Bandaids only work for so long. Then they don’t. My anxiety had roared its way back stronger than before.

I didn’t want to keep drinking to numb and forget. I wanted to get better. The internet suggested a couple of non-fiction books to help my cause. I started reading them the next day.

Books and that tiny bit of self-awareness brought me out of a dark place. Months later, reading had replaced at least a few of my degenerate behaviors.

A couple of years later, the non-fiction books I read had lost their luster. If I enjoyed those kinds of books, I thought, maybe I’d like fiction too.

Turns out I did.

And that’s how I became a full-fledged reading addict.

Today, I voraciously read novels and listen to audiobooks. I love them more than any human should. I believe that reading makes me smarter and more creative. It also improves my writing, which is another good habit that I’ve picked up along the way.

There are many worse things than reading, but there are few better.

Reading is just another one of the many good outcomes of dealing with years of anxiety and winning.

Best,

Jason