You ever have a thought that just smacks you in the face because it was so obvious, so right there? Well, here is one that gave me a lil slap recently. I thought I was an eager reader, a person who thought of all the books I own, all the books for upcoming book clubs, all the books available at the library, all the possibilities, and I became so excited to just get on to the next book.

While reading something nonfiction, I couldn’t wait to sink into a novel. While reading a novel, I just wanted some short, punchy stories. While reading short stories, I wanted an informational book that would get to the heart of a topic. When reading an informational book, I thought of the pile of Sweet Valley High books I own and need to read. While reading Sweet Valley High books, I thought of how silly they are and convinced myself to read a classic. While reading a classic, I’m thinking about something stabby, something horror. While I’m reading horror, I think about the next Lucy Kincaid FBI novel and how I should just hurry up and finish the series. When I’m reading Lucy Kincaid, I think about all the super awesome volcano books I own (yes, plural) that would blow my mind. While I’m reading a volcano book, I’m thinking about the novels I own and read pre-blogging that would be great to re-read and review on Grab the Lapels…. Are you overwhelmed yet? Welcome to my brain.

Again, just to be clear, I assumed all readers were this passionate about just getting on to the next book.

And then I was reading a 400 page novel purporting to be about zombies/the apocalypse when I realized no, this is a philosophical work of fiction asking me to think about what makes a human being. And I noticed I was skimming. Really, you can’t skim philosophy because you’re not stopping to think about what it’s asking you, even if it is fiction. My brain was effectively saying, “I don’t care because I have more books I desperately want to read.”

Hello, anxiety, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. HELLO.

That’s when I realized just how much my “eager reader” brain isn’t just excited that so many books exist, it’s getting anxious about how many books exist. Consider this: when I was a professor, I would grade papers. While grading papers, I was thinking about how I should be spending time with my spouse. While spending time with my spouse, I would think about how I should be lesson planning. While lesson planning, I would think about how I should be exercising. While exercising, I would think about how I should be cleaning the house. Etc. Etc. Wow, similar, right?

So, now I am trying to read intentionally, even if that means I have to re-read a sentence, a paragraph, a page. I want to engage with the work, not run my fingertips across the surface of the water, so to speak. Really, I’m not only anxious while reading. External factors can trigger anxiety, which become internalized and pile up. Biscuit calls this “my bucket is full.” Your sanity and patience are a bucket, and when the bucket gets too full, you have to dump some of the crap out. For her, that would often mean taking a day off from work. For me, it’s been positive self-talk, focusing on powering nutrition, being kind to myself, and writing down external positive moments, such as a client at work telling me I did a good job — something like that. Anxiety reading, which, now that I’ve identified it, can be addressed through intentional reading.

What do you think? Are you an anxious reader, too? Have you experienced what I’m describing? If you have, what were you calling your anxiety reading, or how did you understand it as it was happening?