My Summer of Reading

Ever since I could remember I’ve had a job. The strictures of time bracketing my day. Chunks of hours devoted to being at an office, in a kitchen, on the phone, stuck in meetings. Those things seem so far away in 2020.

Even the concept of routine is now distant.

For those who have been reading about my bike journey and those who have read my bio know: I get up early. Call it anxiety but I like to get up and get things done, that way the rest of the day can be given over to projects that don’t seem so tangible. Like writing, for instance.

Much of writing is about being able to explore, play. What can seem more lazy than just sitting and thinking. Yet that’s what a writer does. They have to be able to think and have the ability to focus.

So flipping 300 or so pancakes is the visible and the plotting is the invisible. Both are working, just one gets the most attention. Rightfully so, I mean who doesn’t love a pancake.

This summer none of this is taking place. The writing lately outside of blogging (and even at that I’m lagging) feels blah, inconsequential. Even reduced to its most basic: providing content, is no longer a motivation. The idea that my words matter has turned into, like everything else, a ghost of the past.

Since getting back to Chicago July 27 I’ve had exactly 2 appointments to meet up. One was with my skin doctor who I was super excited to see. At the rate things are going I’d love to date my dentist. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen Justin the hygienist who cleans my teeth. I miss him.

Recently I checked my phone record. Outside of my daughter over the past 3 three weeks I’ve only gotten 2 calls from friends (one was returning my call). I’m willing to engage with scammers at this point.

All this to say: check in with people. It’s a pandemic and people, even if well, are hurting. Suffering from invisibility, the unseen disease of being unseen. Taken for granted.

Sooooo, I’ve had to say to myself. This is your summer of reading. Remember when you used to wish for unlimited time to hang out at the beach or sit in an armchair and read books??? Well, here you are. Since being back home I’ve read like 5 books, every day I walk down to the lake, most mornings I run—coming back dripping with sweat. I fix glasses of lemonade or ice tea after showering and sit down with a book. I let condensation drip down the sides of the glass and a breeze wisp over me, cooling me off.

 

Reading is not pancakes, but it is useful, if even for my own enjoyment. It doesn’t benefit others, but makes me feel as if I’m doing something.