Losing My Reading Habit

When I was younger, I devoured books. But somewhere along the way, life shifted. My “reading” became endless documents at work, streams of emails, and later—articles online. It was still words, but not the kind of words that pull you into another world and refuse to let you go.

“It was still words, but not the kind of words that pull you into another world.”

Part of the reason I stopped was simple: I was busy. Life left little room for curling up with a novel. The only time I seemed to make space for reading was on vacation.

Vacation Reads in Costa Rica

I still remember a trip to a remote part of Costa Rica where we stumbled on a tiny shop that loaned out books. You could borrow one and drop it off when you were done. I picked up a beach read and spent hours stretched out on the sand or by the pool, fully immersed in the story.

That little store came in handy later in the trip when I got a bad rope burn while rappelling. With no TV in the hotel room, I found myself propped up with pillows, reading to pass the time as my wound healed. Books kept me company in those quiet, unexpected hours.

Joining the Book Club

I missed that feeling—the magic of racing to the end of a story, or wishing it wouldn’t end at all. So I decided to do something about it: I joined a book club.

The group I found near my home was full of lively, thoughtful women. We took turns hosting, sometimes adding themes inspired by the book, sometimes just leaning into whatever suited the host.

Hosting Night

When it was my turn, I hosted an evening tea. I spent the whole day cutting crusts off delicate sandwiches, experimenting with fillings, and arranging pastries on mismatched plates. My apartment was tiny, but it didn’t matter—we squeezed in, sipped tea (and wine, because there’s *always* wine), and laughed late into the night.

Favorites and Fierce Debates

Not every gathering was polished. Sometimes people showed up without having read the book—myself included. But even then, the conversations were worth it.

Some titles stood out more than others:
*Water for Elephants* — rich, emotional, unforgettable
*Life of Pi* — deep, layered, and kept us talking for days
*The Night Circus* — enchanting and whimsical
*Gone Girl* — divisive, thrilling, and oh so fun to debate
*“There’s nothing more fun than dissecting a book with others—it’s almost like being on a jury.”*
The best part was disagreement. It felt like a collective unraveling, each of us offering insights we hadn’t considered. It reminded me of discussing an unusual movie or TV show—the group perspective always added flavor, even if the story wasn’t my personal favorite.

Heavy Reads, Light Breaks

For a while, we leaned into WWII novels: The Book Thief, The Postmistress, Life After Life. They were powerful but heavy. Eventually, we all agreed we needed a breather and chose a beach read. That shift felt like a collective exhale, and reminded us that reading can be both meaningful and fun.

From Reader to Writer

Looking back, I think some of the books I struggled with came down to the characters. If I didn’t connect, the story was harder to enjoy. That realization shaped me later, when I started writing my own children’s book. I wanted to create a character readers would instantly love—so I chose a little goldendoodle. Who wouldn’t fall for that?

Closing Thoughts

Month after month, the club kept me reading more consistently than I had in years. It reminded me that reading isn’t just a solitary escape—it’s also about connection. Books became conversation starters, bridges to new friendships, and a reason to pause and savor stories again.

Eventually, I moved far enough away that it was hard to keep going. I’m not sure if the club still meets, but I miss it—the circle of chairs, the endless snacks, the voices raised in excitement over a story.

Should I find another club? Maybe. But I’ll always carry that time as a reminder of how joyful it can be to share books with others. And funnily enough, since then I’ve even written a book of my own—not a novel, but a children’s story. Whether it’s “good” or not, I can’t say for certain (my inner critic has plenty of thoughts). But I do know this: that book club rekindled something in me that never fully went out.

“Stories, like friendships, have a way of circling back when you need them most.”

Book Club Memories: How I Found My Way Back to Reading