Dealing with FOMO as a Reader
I admit to feeling jealous of people who manage to read fifty books a year. Reading so many books sort of implies that you’re smart and can process information quickly, which is certainly one measure of intelligence. However, I get jealous of the greater amount of experiences these super-readers have. I’d love to learn more about other cultures, time periods, and life experiences. I’d love to read more poetry and imaginative stories. However, for the past two years I’ve managed to read about twenty-five books a year. And you know what? That’s okay.
As a millennial, let me be the first to say that I suffer from FOMO (fear of missing out). FOMO doesn’t just apply to life experiences like falling in love, getting married, or landing that dream job. It also applies to the worlds you live in as a reader. What if I had never conversed with the devil in Moscow in The Master and Margarita? What if I had never fallen in love with Miranda in Pale Horse, Pale Rider? If I don’t continue reading at this pace, I won’t continue to have these wonderful or fascinating experiences! So goes my frantic inner dialogue. When I wonder if I’m using my time well as a reader, I think of some of the great books I’ve read over the years and how they have helped me learn more about myself. This is one way that’s helped me combat FOMO as a reader.
Several booktubers I’m familiar with have created a friendly, welcoming online community of book readers. This online community is crucial to have, especially when readers (like myself) try their best to restrain themselves from obnoxiously raving about books none of their friends have read. Two years ago, one great booktuber, rincey reads, motivated me to read more challenging books from a variety of genres and time periods. It’s been an adventure in the making and a success, I’d say. I created what I call my MRP, my Major Reading Project, wherein I would read at my own pace sixty books that fit certain criteria. I won’t bore you with the details, but as I tried this out, a few half-formed thoughts over the years crystallized into questions I asked myself.
What’s the point in reading a novel if you can’t remember some basic plot points a year later? I’ve read enough novels over the years to enjoy the experience but that alone is not enough of a reason to read when I could just, you know, watch Live PD. In fact, that would probably be more entertaining. (There are also loads of books with basic plots I can’t recall, despite having read them a few years ago.) What value is there in reading a book if all that you can remember is how it made you feel but not why it did so? This is the main problem I have with setting high reading goals. Completing so many books can take your attention away from making meaning of them. That’s what happened with me.
There are literary texts I’ve read in college that are much more meaningful to me because my professors assigned them and guided the class through analyzing them through various contexts. We were given the opportunity to reflect on them in a number of ways and not just through reader-response criticism, but through other forms of literary criticism. Gerard Manley Hopkins is one of my favorite poets for this reason. There’s no way in hell I would have read his poems if I hadn’t majored in English. And if I did read his poems at the age of eighteen on my own — no, I wouldn’t even make it past one poem. I also wouldn’t have tried to relate to Hopkins’ vision of life. I wouldn’t have thought about how my reading of the text related to my own deeply held fears, beliefs, hopes, and desires. Since my professors taught me how to do this and taught me about sprung rhythm, I can say that Hopkins is a straight-up baller. Of course, not every book warrants a close reading, but in the rush of trying to read sixty books, I became nostalgic for the days in college when I had a surplus of time and was guided by my professors to understand literature on a deeper level.
I can’t help but think that some of the anxiety surrounding completion of reading goals is FOMO. This is something I can certainly relate to. But the depth you gain in reading and rereading a book and wrestling with its meaning can outweigh the breadth of reading a diverse selection of literature. When I realized I couldn’t recall some of the basic plot points in several of my favorite books I last read years ago, I lost interest in the idea of reading so many different books and wanted to get to know at least a few stories really, really well in the hope that I could carry their meanings with me.
Some literature I’ve read has stamped itself in my memory and helped form a part of my identity. Literature does indeed have the power to do that. Reflecting on my emotional reactions as I read has helped me gain a better understanding of my own fears, beliefs, hopes, and desires. At the risk of romanticizing, let me say that reflection needs its own place, can’t be rushed, and sometimes commands your entire attention. What I’m saying is, in the rush to keep up with your reading goals, it may help to temper your expectations and go the opposite way. Think of all the great books you’ve read in your life and celebrate how you’ve been formed by them.
