2021: Read on

One of my 2021 aspirations is to read for joy. This aspiration didn’t come that obvious.

Working in an industry where change is the only constant, I read a lot just to keep up: news, industry reports, economic analysis, and best sellers on how to become better. I made myself believe that time is too precious to savor word by word. Because of that, I have mastered skimming headlines and listening to podcasts at 1.5x speed. There is so much to learn, and there is little time left to read for pleasure.

So when I signed up for Prof. Krasny's literature review class on American Short Stories Since 1945 last December, I really treated it like a shortcut. A shortcut to learn about the cultural values and movements that shaped contemporary America, so that I can make sense of what happened in 2020. I expected to take a notebook full of insights so that I know what to think.

The first few sessions were dissatisfying: each of the 120 minute classes left me with more open questions than straight answers. Prof. Krasny always asked each participants of their thoughts of the stories, then patiently and gracefully validated all the opinions. What did Flannery O'Connor try to convey with the gloomy plot in A Good Man is Hard to Find? What did the color red symbolize in Leslie Marmon Silko's Storyteller? What rituals do we hold on to without questioning them like the one in Shirley Jackson's Lottery? The list went on.

A few sessions in, an eureka moment hit me. There is no one right answer. There are many right answers based on how each of us makes sense of what we read. In those stories, words and sentences don’t just preach ideas by spelling it out on your face. They create scenes and emotions that entice the audience to ponder, at their own pace.

I feel embarrassed how little I know about literature and even more embarrassed because I graduated with honors in English Literature and aced in every possible language proficiency test. The miss in my learning of language, in retrospective, is that I treat it merely as a tool. As a tool, I can quantify my progress clearly: vocabulary, grammar, and logic. However, there is no universal measurement of the imagination, emotions, and reflections a powerful piece of literature triggers in its readers. And when I am busy metrify-ing my learning progress, it squeezes out the enjoyment of reading: the freedom to let my mind wander.

I don't feel the pressure to skip forward any more. I once fear for not moving fast enough. Now, I want to live slow, read for reading's sake, and appreciate quality. 

For this reason, I want to read on.