Column: Retreating to the reading nook as a form of therapy

I'd been busy--really busy. I had multiple projects to finish up for my graduate-level classes. My weekends were spent in a comfy chair, in front of my laptop, endlessly writing and moving items into my online portfolio. It was so bad, I didn't have the time (or the motivation) to write e-mails. I was all written out.

In the midst of all this, I despaired that I wasn't doing much reading. I am a read-a-holic, a chain reader, an obsessive-compulsive when it comes to books. I obsess and am compelled to read.

It occurred to me that though I thought I had no time to read, I really ought to look a little harder. Reading takes me away and soothes my frazzled nerves. Had they ever been more jangled?

I decided that spending a Saturday doing homework was enough hard labor for one person. Taking half an hour to read was not going to significantly set back my progress.

This decision made all the difference. I was giving myself permission to read.

The best time to read, it seemed to me, was right before I started dinner. If I could get to my reading nook at 4 p.m., I'd have an hour to read. I vowed to get there by 4:30 p.m. at the latest.

Ah, the reading nook. It is one of my favorite places in the house. Four years ago, we had an ancient attached shed taken down. We replaced it with a a family room that fit the same footprint: an ell that projected from the back of the house.

The room was lower than the house proper, so the builders constructed a wide landing and staircase that linked the kitchen and the door to the deck to the ell. That left a cozy corner next to the stairs. Adding to the charm was the fact that the house's brick foundation had been exposed to form the back wall of the addition.

I outfitted my nook with a black club chair, the biggest ottoman ever made and a floor lamp. A small side table provided room for cups of tea and my usual towering stack of books to be read.

I'm not kidding about the hassock. Both of my dogs--an 85-pound chocolate lab and a 40-pound pit bull mix, can join me, if they arrange themselves effectively on the ottoman. That doesn't always happen, because this is the one place Quinn the lab can partially sit on my lap, so he likes to sprawl out. Martha is compact enough to stretch out on my legs anyplace, but she doesn't like losing out. So, sometimes there's a lot of jostling before I can settle down to read.

But now that I'd set my reading time, it became sacred. I was more stern with the dogs than I usually am. I didn't want to miss a minute.

Giving myself permission to read was just the ticket. I looked forward to whatever time I could get between 4 and 5 p.m., and did what I needed to do to make reading time happen. I quickly raced through three books in my favorite genre--psychological thrillers: “Apple Tree Yard” by Louise Doughty; “The Passenger,” by Lisa Lutz; and “The Widow,” by Fiona Barton.

Why hadn't I thought of this before? As a school librarian, I am well aware of the value of silent sustained reading. I loved it when my school did SSR. Every day, at the same time, we'd all stop for 15 minutes and read. The read-a-holic craved more, of course, but taking time during the day to read was such a luxury, I couldn't complain. I was beholden to read: I needed to be a good role model.

Setting time aside to read--or whatever you do that makes you happy--works. Doing it the same time very day is even better. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing at 4 p.m. I just glide slowly toward my book nook.

Of course, there are days when I’m not home at 4 p.m. Once a month on Thursdays, I have a faculty meeting, followed by an educational association gathering. Sometimes these last until 5 p.m. I wonder how my body will react on those days when 4, and then 4:30, arrive. Maybe I’ll have to read something on my phone.

My book nook time gives me something I thought I’d lost: time to read. When I was a kid, I’d sit with a book for a couple of hours. I remember that, when I was a teenager, I combined sunbathing with “Gone with the Wind.” In retrospect, considering the heft of that book, it’s amazing I didn’t get fried to a crisp.

Now, I don’t seem to be able to find a couple of hours to do anything. Even when my husband, Paul, and I took a mini-vacation last month, I had to work on my school projects right up until the time we left, and had to return to them as soon as we got home.

But now that I have given myself permission to read, I am finding the most onerous tasks easier to bear. I know that, come 4 p.m., I’ll be heading to the book nook—to paradise.