Reading opens windows to the wider world, and beyond.
“The book that’s too expensive is the book you don’t buy.”
I heard that once and it resonated. You never know what you’re missing in a book you don’t read.
Reading is a gift. I’m always grateful for the one or ones who taught me, long since nameless. Not that I’m so good at it. I tend to be terribly slow, lose concentration, forget eighty percent by the next day (or the same day), or fall asleep in the process. But for all that, what I do gain makes me more aware, slightly smarter, and a little bigger than I was before. I’m incrementally enlightened.
My life might be very small in comparison to all things, but reading expands my borders, exponentially.
It’s a gift we take for granted. Most of us don’t even do it much, what with all the other media that comes at us quicker and requiring less effort. But extra effort usually pays, in every field.
And in books you can find something about every field there is. Even a great deal about it.
As I see it, a book is generally written by someone who has thought more about a subject than I have, usually a lot more. So there’s a teacher-student relationship. But the learning is up to me; I can take it all in eagerly or put it down any time. All the knowledge I could ever want is all around me all the time. Reading is how I get it.
Not that all reading is for information or biography or history or inspiration or philosophy or self-help or how-to. Sometimes it’s just for the intrigue of story . . . the beauty of language, the transportation of thought and the sharing of minds . . . in fiction or non.
Whatever we read, we’re more for it.
It’s a gift.
And thanks for reading this. (I hope it helped.)