While packing today I’ve been feeling rather like I’m planning an escape, except that all I’m escaping is the winter doldrums, and the not-even-terribly-cold weather that I really can’t complain about. I don’t really travel to escape.
I read to escape. When life feels like one endless treadmill, albeit one without the benefit of granting exercise or physical fitness, I pick up a good book. If I’m cold, I read about somewhere warm, if I’m missing the beach, I read a novel that takes place on the shore.
Sometimes I’ll make the bed with fresh sheets, brew tea, and read for an entire blissful afternoon or evening, coming out of the book mood as refreshed as if I’d been napping – perhaps more so. Other times, I’ll read in fits and snatches only, but always, always, there are words and books and pages.
It’s my favorite form of escapism.
You’ve captured the allure of reading perfectly! Don’t you feel sorry for those who don’t read and will never know the joy?
cjh
I love being able to just wallow in a book. It’s the only escapism that’s satisfying for me as well. It would be awesome if I could attain a job where all you had to do was read!
Only problem I can see would be that reading might become somewhat less fun. I suppose then I’d have to find a new escape. No fun.
Favorite form of escapism? It has to be BLOGGING! :razz:
Your description reinforces that reading is one of life’s highest pleasures. It’s funny, as the Christmas dinner I attended yesterday, there were FOUR self-described “non-readers” . . . intelligent people all, but who nonetheless don’t enjoy reading. I just don’t speak that language.