I Started Reading Again

And remembered what it feels like to give one thing my full attention.

I started reading again.

Over the past couple of years, I did not read as much as I wanted to.

Most of my free time still contained some form of input. A video played while I ate. I checked my phone between tasks. Even when I was resting, part of my attention was already searching for the next thing.

I did not want more input.

I wanted to pick up a book and feel my mind become quieter.

A book does not constantly offer you something new. It asks you to stay.

At first, that was probably the difficult part.

My attention had become used to movement. New posts, new videos, new information. A few seconds of boredom were enough reason to look somewhere else.

But a book does not work like that.

You have to remain inside it long enough for a place to form around you.

That takes time.

Recently, I have been reading quieter stories. Books set in Japan, where atmosphere sometimes feels more important than action. Cafés, train journeys, conversations and ordinary rooms.

Nothing is shouting for my attention.

And perhaps that is exactly why these stories hold it.

Reading Used to be Different

When I was younger, reading did not feel like something I had to make time for.

It was simply how I followed my curiosity.

I had books about dinosaurs, space and the history of the Earth. I still remember them partly by their colours. The book about Earth was red. Space was blue. The dinosaur book was somewhere between orange, yellow and brown.

The books themselves became part of the memory.

I also remember visiting the old library in Appingedam with my grandmother. I found an enormous book about ancient Egypt. It was heavy, written in English and far too difficult for me.

I must have been eleven or twelve.

I never really read it. But that did not matter much. I wanted to understand what was inside, even if I was not ready yet.

Curiosity was enough.

I did not set a reading target. I did not keep track of the number of pages. I did not ask myself whether the information would be useful later.

I just wanted to know more.

Reading Slowly Disappeared

I cannot point to one specific moment when I stopped reading regularly.

It happened gradually.

Books moved further into the background while my phone moved closer. Reading became something I still liked in theory, but rarely chose in practice.

The phone was easier.

A book required a beginning. I had to sit down, focus, and move through the first few pages before the world inside it started to feel real.

My phone required almost nothing.

Whenever I became bored, distracted, or slightly uncomfortable, something new was waiting for me.

Another video.

Another post.

Another piece of information I would probably forget within a few minutes.

I think that changed what I expected from my free time.

I started expecting immediate stimulation. Reading could not compete with that, because it was never supposed to.

Books Became Part of My Days Again

Reading has slowly started coming back into the smaller places of my life.

On the train with a strong cappuccino.

In bed before going to sleep.

During an afternoon that feels as though it is passing faster than I want it to.

These moments are not dramatic.

Reading does not transform the entire day. It does not solve every problem or instantly repair my concentration.

But it gives part of the day a shape.

Instead of opening my phone without thinking, I return to a place that has already been waiting for me.

Sometimes reading also works as a transition.

Between travelling and arriving.

Between activity and sleep.

Between feeling mentally restless and becoming slightly more settled.

The difference is often small.

But small differences can change how a day feels.

I Found Younger Me Again

Recently, I started reading a book about Egyptian mythology structured around a journey from Aswan to Alexandria.

The idea immediately appealed to me.

It combined several things I have always liked: history, mythology, travel and place.

It also reminded me of that large English book in the library.

The curiosity I had as a child had not disappeared. It was still there, underneath years of routines, distractions and faster forms of entertainment.

Starting to read again therefore does not feel like creating a completely new habit.

It feels more like returning to a part of myself that I had stopped giving attention to.

Reading Does Not Need to Be Productive

It is easy to turn reading into another self-improvement project.

You can create yearly targets, track every page, and build systems around how much you should read.

There is nothing wrong with that.

But I do not want reading to become another part of my life in which I feel behind.

I already have enough things asking me to become faster, more productive, or more disciplined.

Reading offers something else.

It allows me to move slowly without feeling that I should already be somewhere else.

I still use my phone too much. My concentration is not suddenly perfect. Some evenings, I will still choose a video instead of a book.

But I started reading again.

And with it, I am slowly remembering what it feels like to stay with one thing long enough for it to become a world.