From Page-Turner to Page-Tender

There was a time when I used to devour books like they were slices of my favorite cake. I’d finish several novels in a month, each one a new adventure, a fresh world to dive into. I remember curling up in my favorite reading nook and getting so lost in a book that I’d forget what day it was. Reading was my superpower, and I was a bookworm with a cape.

Now, it seems my superpower has turned into a super-snooze. I’m in the midst of a reading slump, and it’s like my reading pace has decided to take a nap. I can barely finish one book in a month, and each page I turn feels like a small triumph. It’s not that I’ve fallen out of love with books; it’s more like my brain has decided that a slow dance with literature is more enjoyable than a full-out tango.

There’s a certain beauty in this slower pace. It’s as if each book I do manage to read now is a precious gem, and the journey through it feels like a thoughtful, leisurely stroll rather than a sprint. The thrill of finishing a book, even after it takes what feels like an eternity, is deeply satisfying. It’s like running a marathon and realizing the real victory is just getting out of bed that morning.

This reading slump has been a surprising gift, teaching me to savor each book more deeply. It’s a gentle reminder that my relationship with reading is evolving. It’s no longer about how many books I can race through but about how meaningfully I can connect with the ones I do read. Each book is a slow, sweet conversation, not a frantic, fleeting fling.

I might not be finishing books at lightning speed anymore, but I’m finding a different kind of joy in this new rhythm. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the beauty of a book isn’t in how quickly it’s read, but in how deeply it resonates with us, one page at a time. And who knows? Maybe this slower pace just means I’m becoming a more sophisticated reader — or at least that my book collection has become a bit more like a museum exhibit.