Time Shifting: A Choice Learned from Reading Outlander

A few months ago a friend suggested that I read Outlander. I downloaded it on my phone to read on my hour commute to and from work. The first day, the first chapters, I arrived at work, without having read my emails that had come in overnight... nor Twitter or browsed through my Pinterest boards. The story absorbed every minute of my trip. Once I settled into my seat on the way home, I heard nothing until the conductor announced that we were pulling into the station. Again, I didn't catch up on FaceBook or any other of my social media sites.

Reading from a phone is a constant swipe swipe swipe. I stopped at the library across from the train station to pick up a hardcover copy for reading at home. OMG. It weighed a ton! I took it home anyway.  Once home, I didn't watch tv. I made the minimalist of meals, cutting up finger food... a carrot, an apple and found some almonds, raisins and pumpkin seeds. Before Paleo, I probably would have made a bowl of popcorn. The reading experience with the book was far better than the device, but I didn't want to lug the tombe. I looked at emails, Twitter and Facebook for a few minute after I brushed my teeth. I didnt look at work emails. Back and forth on the train I read the story from my phone and at home, from the book. 

The challenge in this process became finding my place on either when I made the switch. Page numbers are not the same when there are many print versions of a print book. I never figured out an algorithm to easily determine where I was in the other reader. I became good at finding a particularly notable word in a first line of a paragraph. It had been awhile since I’d tackled a big, fat book. I'd forgotten how delicious it feels to be completely enrapt in a story… in a hard-back book especially.

I forgot the fragrance  of the paper, the color of the page with light behind me and the infrequent turn of a page... a languished swipe rather than a quick scratch. I loved it, like a reunion with an old friend. I felt more connected, mindful and less connected to stimuli. 

Once I finished Outlander I wanted to continue that experience, like opening a new bag of potato chips, but the library was out of the second in the series. I had to wait. Time slipped and my interest began to wain. Two weeks later I received notice that the book waited for me. I walked to the library to borrow it after dinner that evening.

The librarian retrieved the book from the shelf, snapped the rubber band off the book holding a paper with my last name on it and handed it to me. It felt like a brick.  I leafed through it. I knew I'd love it. The weight represented a commitment to dinners without as much chop and prep, to more nodding in conversations about world and internet happenings, to a messy house and less sleep. I couldn't bring it home. 

Train reading has its own time continuum. The hour commute home can be so much longer than the trip to work.  Reading an absorbing book is a savior, but I realized I didn’t want the book to devour my life either.  I don’t know how to read for short stints. If I was an alcoholic, I couldn't be a social drinker. I know how to let a book take over my life, to keep me up till my eye lids won’t stay open. I used to love that. I still like the idea of it.  In the meantime, I will read it on the train. I downloaded it and I am going to see if I can allow my self to read a book over a couple weeks. It will assist me to drown out the one sided phone calls, the drunk lawyers and the ding of Scrabble games played by someone else on the train. It will be another way to engage me.

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Wondering about the photos? Since January,  I take them every Monday morning just prior to the 7:35 at the Deerfield station.