One day last week I glanced over and the pile of books beside my night table called out to me. I realized that I hadn’t read a book in quite a while.
I considered the reasons for this phenomenon: my addiction to my iPad as a constant source of news, the fact that my laptop is always open and readily available since the onset of working remotely, the new routines of evening entertainment, the overwhelming anxiety of the pandemic, and perhaps none of these.
In a very informal survey, I’ve discovered that others have also found it difficult to read books.
I picked up a book. Although it had a bookmark indicating where I had left off, I started from page one.

Until Covid, I’d always been in the middle of a book and carried a book with me just in case I found those few minutes.
I am grateful that the pile of books reached out to me.