The Stories That I Live For

I have never been a huge fan of sitting down and reading a book. We all have to read books for our classes in school, but outside of school it seems that I lose the will to pick up a novel. It may be sad, but it is true. I can barely get through a book on my own without getting bored. Although, there is something different when it comes to reading a certain type of literature. In eighth grade, I had my first truly enriching reading experience. The novel we all read was Night by Elie Wiesel. I remember only being assigned a few chapters a night for homework, but all I wanted to do after I completed the assignment was dive deeper into the depths of the book. Non-fiction readings along with autobiographies always seem to have a strong hold on me. Truthful stories that are hard to relate to bring me to my senses and access my emotions. Ever since reading Night, my love for reading had once again diminished, until this past week. 

When we were all assigned Man's Search for Meaning, the first question that popped into my head was how many pages the reading was. Now, only a few days later, I look back at myself and a feeling of embarrassment washes over me. My love for reading had gotten so low that all I wanted to know was how long the assignment would take me, just so I could get it over with. Reflecting on this, I have learned a valuable lesson. Never take a single reading for granted because they all contain an important message. 

As I began to read Man's Search for Meaning, I was engaged instantly. I was first drawn in as Frankl described the suicidal thoughts that were looming in every prisoner's minds. According to Frankl, "There was little point in committing suicide, since, for the average inmate, life expectation, calculating objectively and counting all likely chances, was very poor,"(31). In this moment I was astonished. Frankl makes it obvious that committing suicide is pointless in the concentration camp, because they are probably going to die soon anyway. The thing that pulls me into this passage is how opposite my life is to his. I have never been in a position where everyday death is breathing on my neck. That feeling is unknown to me, and the unknown entices me into the text. Furthermore, another significant passage from the excerpt is an example of why texts such as these make me love reading. Frankl begins to describe a fellow prisoner who was having a horrible nightmare. Being a psychologist, Frankly wants to wake him from his dream because he knows that nightmares are terrifying to the mind. Although, Frankl pulled his hand away because "...no dream, no matter how horrible, could be as bad as the reality of the camp which surrounded us, and to which I was about to recall him,"(41). Personally, I could read this passage over and over and never be disinterested. The vividness of the imagery Frankl uses makes me feel as if I am there with him in that mud hut. I too, am watching the fellow prisoner as he is being terrorized by his nightmare. 

Clearly from this blog, it is obvious I am not a huge reader. I don't scrounge the library looking for a new book, or read a novel instead of watching TV. Although, readings such as Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning and Wiesel's Night are the one's I cannot put down. Reading these texts put you into a different world and make us reflect on our own lives. They teach us lessons, such as not to take ANYTHING for granted and that we do not know what we have until it is gone. These stories, are the ones that I live for.