A Reading Challenge

I've been given thought recently to the number of people setting themselves reading challenges for 2016. And that thought was, when did reading become a challenge rather than privilege to enjoy. We wouldn't do this for other forms of media, would we? No one's saying to themselves they're going to aim to watch 20 films, or play 30 video games. No one's 2016 New Year resolution is to watch a whole bucketload of TV.

I guess this, to a certain extent, is the point. We're so overloaded with options, with things we could do, that some options get pushed to the wayside. We're all so incredibly busy. Is it any surprise that people who love to read are struggling to fit it in amongst the hustle bustle of modern life?

I, myself, am no stranger to the problem. I used to fit my reading in on the train. Unfortunately, the train is also a perfect place to do my writing. I feel horrendously guilty if a whip a book out, when I know that this is the only chance I'll have to make some progress on Chapter 2, or finally find out how the saintly vicar I killed off in Chapter 3 is going to turn out to be the evil mastermind behind all the shenanigans in Chapter 27.

Naturally, I therefore fret and worry about it for the first five minutes and then end up listening to a podcast instead because the trains too crowded and its a little antisocial whipping out my laptop and inflicting my elbows on fellow commuters.

Podcasts are my new addiction. Or rather Radio 4 comedy shows on BBC iPlayer. It's a joyful discovery that replacement of decent sitcoms on TV with half baked rubbish that looks like it's been dragged kicking and screaming out of the 70s (Mrs. Brown's Boys, I'm looking at you) is more than made up for by a wealth of radio comedy ranging from repeats of old classics to modern classics in the making, such as John Finnemore's Double Acts, Tom Wrigglesworth's Hangups or the Pin.

But if we're all so inundated with options of what to do with our spare time that we have to set ourselves reading goals in order to fit them all in, why oh why do some people insist that, if they retired, they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. That shows an awful lack of imagination. When my parents retired, they seemed busier than ever before. I found myself in the ridiculous Bridget Jones situation of being jealous of my parents social life. I never get to go out, struggle to keep in touch with friends. I'm too busy either working or running children from one after-school club to another. My parents, on the other hand, are living the life of Reilly. Well, if Reilly was really into golf and Rotary clubs that is.

Still, the point is that they're happy. They aren't finding themselves setting reading goals for 2016 because they know they can read when they want to. And if they aren't reading its because they're doing something else that they themselves have chosen to do.

Maybe that's the secret to happiness. It's not wealth, of power, or celebrity. It's knowing that whatever you're doing right now is what you should be doing. Whatever possibility you're missing out on, whatever grass-is-greener could-have-been exists, it's no better than what you already have. We could spend our whole lives missing the beauty of now because we're too busy despairing the vacancy of not. But unless you're in pain, in poverty, or in the iniquity of situation that most of us will hopefully never have to know, you're probably doing okay. You're probably happier than you think you are. And if you're current dissatisfaction is brought on by the fact that you're missing out, that there's something you'd rather do, or somewhere you'd rather be, than now's the time to realise that everything is fine, you're privileged to exist in such a beautiful world, and that being 'there' is never going to be better than being exactly where you are.