What We Gain From Reading Fiction

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Its a “snow day” in the ATL today. That means that the temperatures may dip below freezing and the cold rain may solidify into ice or snow. In an an abundance of caution (and probably a fear of a cluster this close to the Super Bowl), the local schools have all decided to implement Online Learning Days.

Since my internal alarm clock still woke me up at 4:00 am and my students will likely not begin their online assignments until later this evening, I’ve been granted the much-needed gift of some unexpected time this morning.

I walked the dogs, wrote some quizzes, did my taxes and went to the gym. But my inbox for work was still silent. So I picked up my Kindle, took a trip to the virtual library and spent the last few hours reading a fictional narrative.

The writing was unremarkable. The characters somewhat unlikable. And the story was somehow confusing and tedious at the same time. (I guess that the library gets runs on ebooks just like the grocery store runs out of milk and eggs during a storm).

But even though the book wasn’t great, the experience was. Because reading fiction has benefits that we often fail to recognize.

Fiction Allows for Distance and Distraction

When we’re sad or anxious or just generally unhappy with our current circumstances, it’s natural to seek escape. Some escapes are certainly healthier and more effective than others.

Surrendering your mind to a story is a wonderful way to give it some rest from whatever is troubling it. Because books demand our attention, they are often more immersive than video or other more passive means of mental escape.

Books allow a free (or cheap) vacation with no packing, no preparation and no TSA lines. The trip away can occupy you for a few minutes or several hours. And as with any holiday, you often find yourself restored upon your return to normal life.

Fiction Provides a New Perspective

Most of us live a relatively homogenous life. We live near people that are like us. Then, we go to work alongside those with similar values and goals. On the weekends, we watch the same shows and visit the same shops. So even when we talk to others, it can sometimes feel as though we’re conversing with a reflection.

Fiction provides a break from the monotony and offers the gift of novelty and a fresh set of eyes. You get to experience what Earth is like from Mars or what it’s like to be a strapping man if you’re a diminutive woman. You’re able to experience new worlds, myriad narrators and countless motivations and backstories.

Once the book is set down, the experience of a different perspective often stays with you, allowing you to be more flexible and open in how you perceive things.

Fiction Encourages Empathy

At the start of this school year, we used a study of the book, Wonder, to anchor our social and emotional wellness lessons. My 6th graders still struggle to identify and analyze their own responses to situations, but they could easily put themselves in Auggie’s shoes and discuss how he might be feeling.

Because so much fiction is written from a first-person perspective, it truly gives us the opportunity to occupy the shoes – and thoughts – of somebody else. It’s much harder to judge somebody’s actions when you’re also privy to their internal world.

When you read a lot of fiction, it primes your brain to ask questions about people you encounter in the world before you jump to conclusions about what is behind their actions.

Fiction Subtly Inspires

So many “self-help” style books can come across as critical and preachy. They have a way of declaring that you’re doing it all wrong while the one doling out advice has advantages that the rest of us mere mortals can only dream of. That tone can be a turn-off as the advice falls on deaf ears and the inspiration rings flat.

Fiction is different. Instead of whopping you upside the head with some positive and trite message, it slowly and surreptitiously makes it way into your consciousness. As a result, you don’t rally your defenses. And you just might close the book feeling inspired by the messages woven explicitly throughout the text or the whispered encouragement from the character’s actions.

Fiction Ignites Curiosity

I’ve long held the belief that we should all strive to respond to the world with more curiosity and kindness. Narratives are crafted to make us ask questions. We are driven to turn the page by a desire to know what will happen next. Perhaps we form a conclusion before it’s revealed, but we always hold the door open to possibly being wrong.

Fiction creates wonder. It prompts us to ask, “What if?” Books may take the form of boxes, but they are limitless in their reach once they’re opened.


Fiction Speaks of Broad Stroke Truths

When I was going through my divorce, I read lots of fiction. Lots of dumb fiction since my brain was still sputtering. Yet even though the selections were far from literary masterpieces, the basic storylines all spoke of life truths for all – love, loss, transformation, redemption and overcoming obstacles.

It doesn’t matter if the story is about werewolves or Civil War soldiers, these broad stroke truths are the heart of every tale because they’re the heart of every life. And sometimes it’s good to reminded of that. That no matter the setting, we’re not alone in our experiences.

Are you aware of the power in YOUR story?

My Summer Flings

Posted on by stilllearning2b

A reacquaintance…

My whole life, I’ve always been a huge reader. In fact, I did a trip to the PNW with my parents when I was eight that pretty much mirrored the one I did a few weeks ago. However, I hardly remember that trip because I spent the entire time curled in the back of the car with my face in a book. Actually, many books. We stopped at every used book store along the way so that we could sell off one lot and purchase another.

My book consumption dropped alarmingly last school year. It got to the point where I didn’t even bother with the library because I wasn’t able to finish a selection before it disappeared from my Kindle. I can certainly blame some of this on time. It was an all-consuming year at school and yoga absorbed much of what spilled over. Some was due to grief; after losing Tiger, I struggled to focus on the words on the page. I can also attribute some of the decline to my increased use of podcasts; I found myself listening more than reading (which usually accompanies activity for me, not rest). And then of course, some has to be chalked up to just plain habit. Inertia is a bitch.

Since returning from my trip, I’ve been once again devouring books. It feels like returning home. I’d forgotten how much escaping into a well-written novel or intriguing piece of non-fiction can relax me. And I need all of the help with that I can get.

A discovery…

I enjoy music, but I haven’t been one to play music much in the background since high school. With the recent uptick in quality and availability on podcasts (A funny aside here – my ex tried to get me to listen to podcasts for years and I resisted, claiming that my auditory processing sucks. Now, I subscribe to probably fifty of them!), I don’t even listen to music in the car anymore.

Now, I love podcasts. I learn so much and enjoy the intimacy and vulnerability of the conversations. But they do have two downsides for me. First, as I mentioned before, I’m doing something else while I’m listening (walking the dog, running, weeding, doing laundry, etc.), so it’s not restful for my body. What I’m now also realizing is that it’s also not restful for my mind. I need to think, but I also need breaks.

Enter Spotify. I downloaded the app over a year ago to access some of the playlists created by my yoga teachers. I downloaded it, but rarely opened it. Until last weekend. I finally started investing the time and energy into finding and “favoriting” some music that I love.

And now, I not only have a favorites playlist, but I’m also enjoying the daily mixes that Spotify curates for me. Time well spent.

Speaking of curation, I keep getting tempted to try Stitch Fix, but the program isn’t really in my budget. I learned yesterday that ThredUp (an online consignment store) offers a similar box. I filled out the order form and then checked out the reviews before I entered my payment info. From all accounts, it seems like a dud. Oh well, I guess I’ll stick with the free recommendations from my library and Spotify.

A disappointment… 

I enjoy trying out new fitness activities. So when Buti Yoga streamed across my Facebook feed on Monday, I was intrigued. Yesterday, I found a free online “sample” video and gave it a go. It was…weird.

I wasn’t expecting yoga per say, since the facebook ad didn’t look super yogarific. In fact, the routine was a strange mix of yoga, a pole-dancing class and a Jane Fonda video from the 80’s (although the leg warmers and leotards have been replaced with bralettes and booty shorts).

I didn’t get a stretch. My heart rate stayed low. And my booty struggled to achieve some of the prescribed gyrations. And even after an hour long class, I have no residual soreness today.

I guess it’s not for me.

Use This Trick to Set Yourself Up For Happiness

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I did it again the other day.

I was a few chapters into a new book when my initial positive feelings about the characters and the story began to wane. Instead of either committing to the story and giving the author the benefit of the doubt or returning the book mostly unread, I searched for the book on Amazon in order to browse the reviews.

It’s a silly habit, really. I’ve already purchased or borrowed the book. At this point, the opinions of others should hold no merit and I should instead focus on my own interest and my view on the merits of the book.

But I often don’t.

And in doing so, I’ve noticed an interesting phenomena.

Sometimes, I gravitate to the one-star reviews and read scathing comments about the error-filled writing, unbelievable characters or pointless story. It comes as no surprise that when I limit myself to the one-star reviews, I heighten my own sensitivity to the downsides of the book, often deciding to skim the remainder or throw in the towel altogther.

Other times, I really want to like the story and so I filter the reviews to only see those that praise the work in an attempt to see the book in a new and rose-colored light. But this often backfires, the compliments ringing hollow and syncophantic, causing me to become more aware of the gulf between those lofty expectations and my reality of the book.

After much trial and error, I’ve finally settled on a strategy that usually leads not only to my finishing the book, but also increases my enjoyment of it: I read only the three-star reviews. Those assessments that acknowledge the book’s strengths while also being realistic about the weaknesses. A balance between anticipation and assumption. An acceptance that nothing is perfect and that it can be appreciated nonetheless.

A recent study explored the idea of high expectations in marriage. It found that high expectations were associated with a happier marriage only when those expectations were realistic. When the marriage was characterized by a lack of relationship skills, lower (and attainable) expectations actually were correlated with an increase in happiness.

It makes sense.

Sometimes we mistakenly believe that happiness is the absence of sorrow. The lack of struggle. That happiness is only found when everything is going great and all five stars are shining.

But like those glowing reviews, that sort of happiness can ring false as it often ignores or suppresses parts of reality.

Happiness is found when faults are acknowledged but not focused upon. When expectations are high and yet attainable. When perfection is not predicted or pretended. When there is a balance between what is enjoyed and what is tolerated. When concerns are contemplated but not ruminated upon. When each good moment is enjoyed for what it is without worry about the moment before or after.

Happiness is found in the three-star reviews.

 

 

March Reading List

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m still not quite ready to start writing again. The raw shockiness has passed. I hope.

It hit hard this morning- my first morning at home in over 18 years that didn’t begin with my cat on my lap. I crawled back into bed for a bit for a good cry and a hug before I was ready to face the day.

For the most part, I just feel that scooped-out void. And I’m reminded all over again why it is called heartache. The chest literally aching from the loss.

And of course, I’m also brutally reminded of the fact that every loss carries echoes of the ones before. After a certain age and/or life experience, there’s no such thing as a singular grief.

While I’m adapting and acclimating, I leave you with some of the interesting articles that have come across my feed in the last few weeks:

Stop Yourself From Crying With a Quick Pinch

5 Major Fears That Kill Relationships

10 Barriers to Intimacy and How You Can Break Them Down

21 Books to Read When You’re Going Through Heartbreak

And one I’m a bit dubious about, but I’d love to hear others’ thoughts:

36 Questions That Can Make Two Strangers Fall in Love

You’re Not Special

Posted on by stilllearning2b

You’re not special.

That realization was the  hardest pill for me to swallow post-divorce.

I would read or listen about the depths of pain others experienced through divorce and silently believe that my pain had to be different.

Special.

And I had plenty of evidence to back up my belief. After all, how many 16 year relationships end with a text, fraud and bigamy?

It was a great excuse to delay the real work of healing for a time; by focusing on the sordid details, I gave myself a reason to ignore the collective wisdom from the universal experience of love and loss. On the surface, I would graciously accept guidance and advice while tacitly believing that it didn’t apply to me.

Because I thought that my situation, my experience, my pain was special.

I focused on what set me apart rather than what bound me to the common.

I thought I was special. And that belief was both affirming and alienating, giving blessing to the pain and isolating me from others. It’s a lonely place, sorted into a group of one by the particulars of your story. The blessings of excuses soon wear out their welcome and the focus on the details begins to feel like an un-welcomed quarantine.

My unexpected guide out of the isolation chamber of my perceived specialness came in the form of books. Fiction, mostly, and in many cases, not even particularly good fiction. As has always been my habit, I made a weekly library trip and loaded up on whatever was available – mystery, thriller, historical and even some that could be classified as chic lit.

And I read.

And, as is to be expected, my own recent experiences altered the lens I used to view these fictitious worlds; I related to characters who were facing some unimaginable trauma and were suddenly tasked with the seemingly impossible assignment of rebuilding their lives.

And I learned that when it comes to pain, the details don’t matter.

I empathized with characters facing illness, losing loved ones in myriad ways, dealing with natural and manmade disasters and even with those experiencing what would be classified by most as a minor loss. I related to the antagonists and protagonists, men and women, children and elderly and even the occasional non-human. In almost every story, I found elements shared with my own.

My focus blurred, editing out the details and seeing instead the ever-present themes of love and loss, of fear and shame and of hope and persistence.

I wasn’t special.

And I welcomed that realization.

It meant I wasn’t alone. That others had faced similar and thrived. That even though this was a new path to me, it was well-worn and well-marked.

Pain isn’t a solitary experience and healing is not a solo journey.

And even though you are unique and awesome in your own way, when it comes to suffering, you’re not special.

Rather than focus on what sets your pain and experience apart, find comfort in what binds you to others.

You’re not special. And you’re also not alone.

Group hug?:)