Learning to read

There are a lot of days that I wake up and go about my day thinking to myself, "I'm a big fraud."

You see, for my entire life, people have known me as the bookworm. From the time I could grasp, I'd always had a book in my hands. I loved learning new things and becoming friends with characters and falling into the colorful world my mind created from black and white pages. It truly made my childhood magical.

Then I got older, and somehow the books I chose to read morphed into a status symbol. I still loved to read, but I secretly compared my book choices to other books my friends were reading, and I made decisions about what I read based on how cool I thought it would make me seem to other people. I distinctly remember reading The Bell Jar junior year of high school and giving myself a huge invisible pat on the back because it made me so freaking mature and interesting. Isn't it funny how the teenage brain works?

College definitely derailed my reading habits. I was thrust into the wonderful, wild world of the English major. I do not for one second regret my decision to be an English major, but I do recognize the damage it did to my mentality about reading. On average, I had to read about 30 books per semester to keep up with all my classes. I finished most of them, but it was mostly through cramming and speed reading. I didn't have the luxury of fully immersing myself in something I really enjoyed because I didn't have enough time to get that invested. I understand not every English major has this problem, but it was a huge struggle for me. It turned me into a person that views reading as a chore instead of a fun pastime.

Now, more than a year removed from graduation, I have yet to pick up a new book and read it cover to cover for leisure. I've re-read old favorites (so basically, Harry Potter) and I've attempted starting new books that I've always wanted to read but never got around to, but I never make a commitment to finish them. The one book I did successfully complete in a few days was mostly pictures. (Hyperbole and a Half. Go buy it NOW.) A good friend recently gave me a book she likes as a gift, and as much as I really want to read it and share my thoughts with her, I can't bring myself to pick it up. I spend my nights watching Netflix and cleaning the house instead. Who does chores to avoid doing something they used to do for fun?? I feel like I've lost my love of reading, and it makes me very sad.

This is problematic not just because I want to learn to love reading again, but because I want to become a better writer. Every single professional writer will tell you that if you want to write better, you should read more. But I'm not doing that, therefore my writing remains pretty stagnant. I also feel dumber because reading challenging material expands the mind, so naturally, not reading makes it stay the same, or even regress a little. That's what I've convinced myself, anyway.

So now, dear readers, I ask a big favor from you: In the comment section, please share the title of a book you've read that was an eye-opener, a life-changer, or something you just couldn't put down. I'm seriously begging you. I'm counting on finding that one book that opens my eyes and rewires my brain. It doesn't have to be new or trendy or something Oprah would recommend, it just needs to be good. And maybe a little short. I don't think my brain could handle an 800-page epic right now. I look forward to checking out your suggestions!

P.S. Here's a short list of books I sincerely want to try, but haven't gotten around to yet. Feel free to comment on them as well, if you've read them!
-The Glass Castle
-The Art of Racing in the Rain
-The Fault in Our Stars
-Wave
-The Book Thief
-Wonder
-really anything by Chuck Palahniuk or Carl Hiaasen. I admire their writing styles, but they've produced so much great content that I don't know where to start.
-I've always wanted to get into Stephen King, but I'm a wimp and I don't want nightmares.

Alright, everyone -- recommend away!