I’m sitting in a coffee shop, drumming my fingers lightly on the keyboard of my laptop, not thinking much but not doing no thinking at all, either.

Glancing around, I notice people’s brightened faces, lit up by the glow of their computer screens. Some are squinting behind glass that reflects articles, Facebook, Photoshop. Others are scrolling listlessly, the motion of their fingers languid and relaxed. Concentration or not, they are engulfed by whatever is displayed in front of them, whether they realize it or not.

I look back at my own screen, a blinking cursor on a new word document tempting me. I stare at it blankly, feeling any notion of inspiration or drive I once had this morning seep out slowly, vanishing into the stagnant, coffee-ground filled air.

***

We have lost the ability to read. At least, I have.

Whether this is a result of internet-saturation or the increasingly easy access to electronic devices or a simple distaste for the past time, the statement stands tall, at the top of a nearly insurmountable mountain.

The last time I picked up a book to read for pleasure was the beginning of summer after freshman year of college. It was A Feast for Crows, the fourth book in the Game of Thrones series. I got about 50 pages in and had to stop. It wasn’t due to a lack of interest; it was because I couldn’t retain the information. I was constantly rereading the pages, trying to remember what I had just read, but it got so frustrating that I had to stop. I was constantly distracted while reading, thinking about what I could be doing instead of reading, such as scrolling through a social media feed or being out and about. When I read, I felt like I was missing out.

When I was young, I was an avid reader. I consumed books; it was as though I hadn’t eaten in days and the pages were fresh, warm bread. I read anything, starting with historical fiction (thank you American Girl) and transitioning into the world of science fiction, thriller, mystery, fantasy. Contemporary or classic, literature was my world. From Redwall to Harry Potter, Candide to Slaughterhouse-Five, these worlds became my life. Escaping into a different world was not only fascinating, but intoxicating. Who can resist excellent character development, unexpected plot lines, and a world foreign to us?

I started with Game of Thrones the summer after my senior year in high school, and steadily made my way through the first three books. However, towards the end of my freshman year, something started to change. I picked up A Storm of Swords less often, and instead of reading three chapters at a time, it became two chapters, then only one, and sometimes not even finishing the one at all. There was always another, better option- getting caught up on the current events, checking Twitter, hanging out with friends. I already had enough to read for school, I rationalized to myself. There’s no time for fun reading. I’m amazed I finished the third book at all.

This change in my reading habits was slow but steady. People didn’t talk about what books they were reading; they talked about what was happening in the world, or their classes, or the latest scandal that broke out over social media. There was no time to read, because reading meant being by yourself, holed away, which meant not being caught up on the latest news or being with people. Reading meant missing out.

We are so used to being fed bite-size pieces of information that the idea of reading chapters or stories is daunting. When I spend countless time on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, my mind becomes accustomed to reading less than a paragraph of words. This happens when read things such as articles online, as well. A news article takes minutes of our time, not hours. I find myself clicking on articles and stories on Medium that say 5 minutes or less, because more than 5 minutes seems way too long. These types of readings don’t require much of us, only surface-level and often passive processing. They say habits are formed in three weeks; with the hours upon hours upon hours that we spend on the internet, it’s no surprise we are glued to our phones, our computers, even our electronic reading devices. These are comforting because they promise quick satisfaction and the guarantee that you can use them wherever you might go, and easily put them away if something more exciting happens. Missing out is a thing of the past when the world is in the palm of our hands.

Reading is an art form- it takes practice, skill, and dedication. It takes training your brain to focus, to forgo all distractions and thoughts and pour your attention into the pages before you. I forgot how to do this. I think a lot of people have forgotten how to do this.

There are so many benefits to reading more than statuses and tweets, captions and articles. Increased attention span, discipline, and critical thinking are just a few. Reading books on a screen does not exempt us from this losing this practice. How many people read the newspaper these days? How many people bring books with them to cafes, and not their laptops? Access to digital material is not a bad thing in the slightest, but when it becomes our primary source of reading material, we miss the ability to write in the margins, feel the familiar comfort of dog-eared pages, of having a story physically in our hands. I began to read a Bible app instead of the real thing, and gone were highlighting verses and underlining important phrases and ideas and jotting down my thoughts. I saw my relationship with Christ decline because I wasn’t as invested in the Word. It’s easier to open and close an app at any whim, but it’s harder to sit down and open the cover of the Bible, or any book. An app gives the freedom of switching to something else with one touch; opening a cover means investment of time.

The Internet and technology are not evil or bad things. They open the door to a global scale of information, at the tap or click of a button, and that is an incredibly spectacular thing. However, it’s a trade-off. When we give ourselves to these devices, when we don’t limit ourselves to how much time we utilize them, we lose things in return; the first thing to go is the ability to read at an analytical and deeper level, or even read at all.

In addition to not being able to read as well as I used to, I find that my writing is often compromised when I don’t read. When I am not immersed in stories, I find little inspiration and run dry of ideas. I spend more time staring at a screen than writing, and this is incredibly frustrating. It has taken me a while to realize this, but I’ve been determined to get back not only the skill but the passion for reading. By setting a timer for 30 minutes a day, and forcing myself to engage in a physical book, I have painfully started making my way back to where I once was. It’s not much, but fixing a problem has to begin at the root, not the branch.

***

I look around the coffee shop once more, imagining the individuals with computers in front of them holding autobiographies or newspapers or novels instead. I turn to my own computer, closing the screen without typing a single word. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my old, thrifted copy of Wuthering Heights, and set my alarm for 30 minutes. I settle back into my seat, open the cover, and slowly lose myself.