Last week, just an hour before I had to leave my apartment for the airport, I was still frantically packing. It was a short trip with a full schedule, but I spent about 10 minutes deciding which of the three books I was reading to take with me. I knew it was unlikely I’d have time to turn more than a few pages, but it never occurred to me to not take at least one book.
Reading has always been such an important part of my life that I can easily forget what a privilege it is, a luxury even, not only to be able to read but to have access to so many books across different genres and subject matter. When I stop to think about the value of reading, it strikes me that maybe it’s a luxury we can’t afford to not take advantage of, however busy our lives might be. I don’t think we can overestimate the role that reading plays in shaping our lives, especially when what we read invites us to reflect on unfamiliar stories and perspectives, those we have yet to make room for in our imagination, alongside the familiar.