11 years later

I've just fallen a little bit in love with myself, aged 38. I started this blog in October 2008 and I've just rediscovered both the blog and a side of myself I'd almost entirely forgotten. Not the reader, that's remained a constant in the 11 years since I gave up on the blog, but the writer. And I was quite funny back then; who knew?

I started 'readingwithdrawal' to record a month without reading. I'd decided I was reading instead of living, and with two little boys that was unconscionable, so I stopped.

From the first post: "I read a lot. The usual ways: in bed, over breakfast, on the sofa in front of the TV, Saturday mornings with a cup of tea. The unusual ways: in traffic, brushing my teeth, while cooking, a book propped up on the sill as I do the dishes. On the toilet, of course. And the rest, which I'm not proud of: while driving, while ignoring my kids."

So I gave up reading for a month. "Of course, following Barbara's* lead, I first thought of giving up for a year. Very neat, very grand and expansive. I felt nauseous just considering it, and settled on a modest month."

In week two: "I've chatted to a half dozen people recently about reading, and there's a common theme: most people can't imagine where the time comes from to read, and I can't imagine how you can brush your teeth without a book in one hand."

And week three: "I am becoming less interesting, this is certain. My internal dialogue is boring even me. Coming out of my mouth is chat about kids, work, property, schools, gardening, family news and gossip plus old views, established opinions and well-rehearsed positions. In the absence of new inputs I'm stalling. I think if this went on too long I'd stop altogether. How does the brain stay fluid if you don't read?"

So I returned to reading and committed to recording every book I read for year. Which I largely did, until November 2009, and scrolling back through those posts is like reading a love letter to my younger self.

It's now May 2020, and coincidentally I've just spent the weekend sorting the bookshelves and lo! – so many of the books I was reading in that well-documented year are still on the shelves, dusty but resonant.

*Barbara Kingsolver; the whole endeavour was prompted by reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle while on holidays in New Zealand.