Reading Is Fundamental

One of the traps I have fallen into the past few years is getting so wrapped up in work and the Internet (and the two overlap way too often) that I have not dedicated as much free time for myself as I should.

Perhaps that's one of the drawbacks of our modern world, that our seeming reliance on electronic toys - cell phones, computers, iPods, the Nintendo Wii, etc. - has taken us too deep into the realm of couch potato reality. Mind you, this is the same type of argument that was made when radio was invented, then when television came onto the scene, when VCRs hit the market, and when cable saturated the screen.

It's also an argument that many would call a cop out. And those people are probably right.

As a teacher of British Literature, I often end up reading the very material I am addressing in the classroom: Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, The Tragedy of Macbeth, Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal, poetry by Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats ... basically, a bunch of Dead White Guys.

Not that there's anything wrong with reading these works and writers. But I end up reading the same works and the same authors year after year ... after year ... and while this (hopefully) helps young adults' minds grow (through the analysis of these works and their connection not only to the politics of the world in which they were written, but to the politics of the world of today), it ends up being reading for works' sake, not for personal gain.

It's not that I don't have reading material at home, either. I have a library of several hundred books, many of which I have read multiple times. But there's plenty of untouched works in my collection as well, including (but not limited to): Truth and Duty: The Press, the President, and the Privilege of Power (Mary Mapes); The Fun of It: Stories from The New Yorker (edited by Lilian Ross); The Essential Kabbalah (Daniel C., Matt); Boychicks in the Hood: Travels in the Hasidic Underground (Robert Eisenberg); Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope; Thomas L. Friedman's The World is Flat; and three Harry Potter novels.

No, for the most part, it comes down to a personal commitment - or lack thereof - to dedicate 15 minutes here, an hour there, to park myself on the couch, grab a cold glass of water, put on some George Winston, and crack open the pages of a saga from the past.

Around Thanksgiving, my mother loaned me a copy of the most recent Mitch Albom novel, Have A Little Faith. It sat, gathering dust, for the several weeks between that holiday and Christmas, begging for attention. One night last week, I lazily glanced at the cover and said to myself, "Let's take a read, shall we?"

So I parked myself on the couch ... grabbed a cold glass of water ... put on some George Winston ... and immersed myself in Albom's publication.

I won't say it was the best I've ever read, or the worst. I don't know where I'd actually "rank" it overall, since I've yet to finish it. But it is a good, clean read so far, offering me plenty to ponder about myself and the world around me, to mull over where my life's travels have taken me religiously and where I might plot my life's religious GPS in the near future.

For that, it makes for a great read.

I have almost completed Have A Little Faith, and am already contemplating my next read. Will it be Frederick Forsyth's The Fist Of God for the umpteenth time? Into Jane Leavy's Sandy Koufax: A Lefty's Legacy for a fifth time? Or will I finally delve into Eric Burns' historical review of the beginnings of American journalism, Infamaous Scribblers?

We shall see. Meanwhile, I think I'll light a Yankee Candle as well next time ... just to add to the moment.