Post Pandemic Problem

The last year and a bit have made a lot of changes in our lives and society. The most common hope I hear is that we will get back to “normal” or something like that. And the sooner the better.

Normal. Meaning “the ways things were before”. I’m not sure how close we can really get. I’m not sure how close we should WANT to get. There are advantages to a time “away”. It’s a time to reassess, adjust and move on in a better place.

But that’s not my issue here. During the course of the pandemic, I lost something. Something very valuable to me, something that has been a central part of my life for as long as I can remember.

I’ve lost the desire to read.

Maybe “lost the desire” isn’t quite accurate. I still WANT to read. But I can’t find the energy, the impulse to grab a book and rip through a story. My book offerings here have been more scattered than is “normal” even for me. Last year was an historic low for reading, but it looks like 2021 may be worse. That terrifies me. Reading has been a central part of who I am. I was the kid whose mother would pester him to “Go outside! It’s too nice a day for a healthy boy to be sitting inside. Out!” And then I would take my book with me and sit under a tree (where she could see me), and read. Outside, as directed. On rainy days (when I couldn’t “go outside”), I would grab a volume of the Collier’s Encyclopedia that lived on shelves in the hallway, and read page after page of random knowledge. The first listing was for “aa” which is a kind of lava. My brain became filled with more and more bits of informational flotsam and jetsam. I read Asimov’s Foundation trilogy, and the Barsoom stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs. The Hardy Boys and Sherlock Holmes. Poetry and fantasy and history. Shakespeare, trivia, and Reddit. The birth of the ebook reader was one of the greatest days of my reading life. No longer would I have to be limited to a book or two with me, but dozens of books in a single volume!

Then Covid-19 wiped out “normal” for 2020.

It was not an easy time for me. I haven’t had full-time employment for four years. I had cobbled together working as a substitute teacher and some rideshare driving to help make ends meet. March 15 those came to a screeching halt. With lots of time on my hands, you would think that I’d disappear into my books again. But it didn’t happen. I rode hundreds of miles on my bicycle, cooked many meals, watched many, many movies and television shows.

And read very little.

There were times when I wanted to have something for this blog and would FORCE myself to begin/continue/finish a book. That’s not me, not even close. I’m the reader who has to be called three times to pull out of the world I’m exploring to come to dinner. I read at meals, at bedtime, first thing in the morning, and on the toilet. I read books, magazines, newspapers, and cereal boxes. A year after Covid hammered the world, I’m still struggling. There is one book review in the queue at the moment. There are several books that sound wonderful that I can’t quite find the energy to begin reading.

So why share this here? Well, it has been a large part of this blog’s history. It’s a central part of my creativity as a writer. I believe that writers need to be readers. And I believe in speaking challenges out loud, to “speak them into existence”. If I keep it locked away inside, it can remain hidden. I can pretend that it’s not really a problem. When I bring it out into the light, then others will see it. Then I can’t pretend it isn’t there.

So here it is. I am struggling to read. My ability to read is fine. My impulse to read is damaged. When we talk about the impact of the virus on those who contract it, we talk both about the immediate effects and the “long haul” effects. I have avoided the illness physically (and been vaccinated), but the pandemic has had its own long-haul impact on me.

There. I have spoken it into the light. Now it’s time to fight, to fight for a relationship that I don’t want to end. To find my way back to “normal”.

To read again.

Peace.