Few things in life elicit the depths and joys and emotions of a good book (outside of connection with other people of course).

There’s something about going on a journey with an author, following a character, living in a different world, being part of something different that evokes a sense of imagination an wonder not found in any other medium.

Movies, famously, often struggle to match up to the expectation set when based off a book. At one point I even started a podcast with my friend (and brother-in-law) Caleb to try and capture the sense we both felt upon reading a great book, then watching a movie. There’s something there that’s hard to evoke, and book readers know it.

That’s not to say I’m a true book snob. I love movies, and often enjoy movies and books together in concert, taking what I can from each form of story telling and enjoying them for what they are.

A book, though (and yes I count Audible as books. After all story telling started as an oral tradition), has a way of drawing you in, of really diving into the depths of an idea, and following it to its end.

I’m not one to easily figure out plot twists, so I’m usually surprised at where things go. At this point in life I’ve just accepted it and genuinely enjoy not knowing what’s going to happen next in a story (my wife on the other hand is much better at this, she usually knows where a story is headed, but also generally keeps it to herself to not spoil me).

Today was another one of those moments. I was on a run in the woods, in the middle of a novel series, recommend by my brother, and had to pause the book to just take in the scene I’d imagined in my head while listening to the book. The moment was a build up after hours of anticipation, and it was so satisfying and emotional that I found myself tearing up.

Those moments are special.

When I find someone who doesn’t love reading, what I’ve found in many cases (of course not all) is that it’s because the person hasn’t read good books yet.

If you think this is you, and you don’t like reading, I’d love to suggest a simple test.

Pick up a book, any book that suits your fancy, and read for a few minutes. If it’s boring, put it down and try another one.

There is absolutely no shame in putting books down. In fact, in the last 15 years I’ve been on an unending book binge, having completed far more books than I’d ever have expected, and also having left unfinished just as many. It’s ok. There’s no rule that says you must complete a story. Life is too short to turn one of the greatest hobbies into a chore.

One thing I’ve found, to add onto this, is that switching up the types of books helps to avoid losing interest. In roughly 3-4 month cycles I’ll switch between fiction and non-fiction. Sometimes I’m interested in a fantasy series, other times I want to dive into some religious themed literature, and still other times I want to read history, self-help, pyschology, business, biographies, or otherwise.

Always I rotate. There’s no specific timeline or requirement to it, but rather I feel myself full on a certain genre or category, and when that happens I try something different for a while.

It’s delightful, it’s fun, and it keeps my reading interesting.

That’s not to say there aren’t books that take a while to get into, that require more digging to fully appreciate. I love those too, but I don’t force it. I allow myself the time and the setting for what I know I can handle at any given time.

Some days that might mean I want to dive into a fifty hour history of World War II, other times it might just be a fun re-read of my favorite novel.

Either way, a good book is a joy, and I’m glad there’s so many to read.