Life has been super weird lately. Things had been going pretty well, everything seeming to fall into place. Then I felt a familiar, unwelcome twinge. I could sense a shadow lurking around the corner, waiting to cover me in its darkness: a reading slump. It all started going downhill from there.
It came upon me slowly at first. Then all at once. While dipping my toes in a few good, interesting books, I found myself losing focus. I was gravitating to the television. To the mall. To friends. These things are not bad in themselves. They are pretty great, actually. But I was setting aside these great books, and pretty consistently.
In a vain effort to stave off the slump, I put those books down and cracked open some comics. I had hoped that a change of pace might revamp my momentum. And for a little while, it did. I caught up on the Amulet series, read a couple volumes of Sweet Tooth, and I powered through the first book of Y: The Last Man. But then… I got stuck halfway through the second book, even though it was awesome. I thought, maybe if I switch to a different series? But that didn’t help. I was officially in slump territory.
As a reader, I’m no stranger to the occasional reading slump—they happen to the best of us. But for me, this one has been different. This one has been lingering, and causing stagnation, not only in my reading life, but in other areas as well.
As of right now, I haven’t finished a book in two months—not since April. I read those comics in May, but since then, I’ve read basically nothing.
If you’re a reader, you may know the feelings that accompany a reading slump. The frustration, the listlessness, the discouragement, the lack of sense of accomplishment. And these feelings have been snowballing the longer my slump has been going on. Not only so, but, like I mentioned, they have been seeping into other aspects of my life as well.
Before my slump began, I had slowed down my reading to allow for more time to focus on other things. I found that to be a good thing, something that was enriching my life. But as my reading shrank to nothing, those feelings of enrichment ceased. When I am unable go out or be with friends, I long to fill my time with books—but I haven’t seemed to be able to do it. Nothing can keep my attention.
I haven’t been able to engage in conversations with colleagues about the latest books I’ve read because I haven’t been reading. I haven’t been able to join the discourse online because I haven’t been reading. I haven’t had anything to say on my blog because, again, I haven’t been reading.
Books are such an important part of my life, not only for personal enjoyment and growth, but as a means to connect to a broader community. These last few months without that sense of connection has led to a deep feeling of loss, disconnect, and disillusionment. It has led to questions of identity and belonging. And the timing of these things has led, essentially, to a full blown quarter life crisis.
I’m turning 25 in a month, and I am feeling incredibly disillusioned about life. Not only that, but I’m struggling to define my identity. I’ve always identified as a reader, but what am I outside of that? Who am I when I’m not reading or talking about books? What do I think? What do I believe? I’ve been questioning everything lately. There is nothing wrong with questioning—really it’s something we should all do more of. But I’ve been questioning things that have always been at my core. And it’s kind of scary.
I want this time of my life to be a fun and exciting adventure of self-discovery. But lately, none of it has been very fun at all. I think in general I’m a pretty positive person, but I’ve been having trouble feeling positive lately.
I’m moving out in a little under a month. I’m hoping that this new responsibility and independence will be the turning point for me and bring back the fun and excitement. And hopefully my reading will get back on track.
Beth is the founder and editor of Fuelled by Fiction. She is a twenty-something east coast Canadian girl who loves writing about books and feminism.