If you don’t consider yourself a reader, I am sorry to inform you that this post is likely not going to tickle your fancy. So, if this is the case and you aren’t someone who enjoys reading, I bid you a good day and ask that you return tomorrow.
For those of us still here, welcome, and allow me to express my appreciation for all of you who, like me, love books. I suppose this post might have a bit more relevance to those of us who dabble in fiction, but a reader is a reader in my books.
I realized from a very young age that I have a deep love for reading. Granted, my parents arguably noticed this before I did, but I know there were instances in which my mom almost had to drag me downstairs for dinner from my bedroom because I was so immersed in a book.
I’m a little disappointed in myself that it took me this long to realize it, but I think what I love so tremendously about the concept of reading is that it is a means of dissociation. Take that statement with a grain of salt, please, because I’m not trying to suggest I lead an incredibly miserable life and therefore must resort to reading to escape. Rather, what I always assumed was a strong sense of visualization is, in fact, myself disassociating with reality and entirely immersing myself in the reality of whatever it is I am reading, and I don’t think this is a bad thing.
You can achieve the same degree of dissociation through television shows and films, but I have always had the best experience with it when it comes to books.
I think it’s rather neat to disassociate from our lives to temporarily exist within a character’s, and I find the experience to be quite relaxing.
Photo by Tom Hermans on Unsplash
ontheedgeofeverything 