The Art of Slow Reading

I’m a slow reader. I don’t devour books. I savour them. I smile, I laugh, I cry. I pause to contemplate. I get angry at characters’ choices, argue with them when they lose their marbles, offer unsolicited advice, and cheer when they finally get their act together. I sip coffee with nuts and dates to calm my nerves, pondering all the ways I’ve been less than perfect myself, feeling a warm companionship with them. I learn from their mistakes, dive into my own psyche, process buried emotions, and relish the tingling sensations of finishing a good book, hungry for more.

Reading, to me, is an extraordinary way to expand our life experience in a safe space, living through others’ turmoil, turbulence, and despair, and coming out wiser, more tolerant, and hopefully kinder. It enriches our toolbox for facing life’s challenges, opens perspectives we might never have reached otherwise, and sharpens our senses.

If you’re a slow reader too, don’t compare yourself to those who speed through hundreds of books a year as if it’s a race to conquer. Maybe, like me, you see reading as a sacred ceremony, your personal me time. You light the candles, pull a soft, extra cozy blanket around you, crunch on carrots to regulate your nervous system, and slip into dozens of different lives in the most authentic, powerful way, curled up in your comfy chair, absentmindedly stroking your fluffy companion at your side.

Hugs,
Natalie