When I mention my reading habits to friends and acquaintances—novels before bed, the newspaper on Sunday mornings, a magazine in the bath, long-form articles online during my lunch break—I usually get a reaction like this: “Must be nice! I wish I had time to read.” It used to make me feel defensive and guilty. Maybe I wasn’t spending my time properly? Should I be reading so much? But I soon realized a reaction like that actually had nothing to do with me; the person replying either had no interest in reading for fun or was envious of my ability to do so.
I’ve been on both sides of the coin. Before I had children, I read all the time, but once my little ones arrived, I had to reevaluate reading as a priority. For a while I had no interest in it; sleep inched up much further on the priority scale. But eventually I missed reading and craved a way to make it happen. I knew I wouldn’t be able to return to my pre-kid mode of consuming literature, but I also didn’t want to spend the next twenty years of my life not ever reading anything, either. Reading is no longer an hours-long indulgence of sitting on the couch with a cozy blanket, book in hand. I now have to take advantage of smaller pockets of time: fifteen minutes there, thirty minutes here. That’s what works for me, and makes it possible to keep reading within the constraints of my actual life.
You have to decide if reading for pleasure is important to you, and if it is, here’s how you can make it work.