I'm entering dangerous territory. I'm noticing things lately. When I notice things I feel compelled to do something about them. The things involve reading and writing. More to the point, the things involve my reading and writing. Before, those hobbies were like two ships passing in the night. They were independent. I liked it that way. Last week while doing some bedtime reading, those ships collided.
As recently as last week, reading a book meant I submitted my attention to the subject of the writing. What the author wrote. This reading policy has served me adequately up to this point. But writing every day surfaced some second-order effects regarding the way I read. Now I'm consciously aware of how the author writes. I may have simultaneously ruined two hobbies. Reading is ruined because now I'm compelled to alternate between audience and participant, a.k.a. note-taker. Unfettered enjoyment is off the table. And writing is ruined because while I've noticed a well-turned phrase before, I more clearly see the cavernous divide between my skills and those of the authors I'm reading.
Usually when I have such epiphanies, they're in a passive context where I have no plans to gain proficiency in the subject matter. Some of the deepest internet vortexes1 I've encountered are the result of unearthing levels of skill I didn't think possible. In my previous essay, I mentioned my habitual overuse of YouTube last year. I dedicated an overwhelming percentage of watch time to observing artists, woodworkers, machinists, homebuilders, and musicians showcasing their skills and expertise. However, my cursory understanding of their work is so far removed from how I spend my own time, the viewing experience is like a vignette or a play. I'm interested as an audience member, but my conscious mind isn't trying to crack open the shell to dissect how they do what they do. I'm looking for stimulation and entertainment, not ideas and insights.
But this latest epiphany is not passive and this scares me. Something is changing and change is uncomfortable. I'm scared I won't be able to enjoy reading for the pleasure of it anymore. My fears are foolish, I know, but there's always a small part of me that resists growth. I'm scared learning new details will complicate my life and set things out of balance. Hypothetically, I could ignore these new abilities but that would be like throwing the key to a treasure chest down a well. True, the chest is perched on a cliff near the top of a mountain and the climb is arduous and when I get to it—if I get there at all—the chest might be empty. But I can't give a shit about all that. The truth is, the chest is never empty, but I sometimes hope it is so I can justify watching TV and getting Cheeto dust on my shirt while pretending I don't hear the call to adventure.
So I shan't be throwing away this key I found. I may not stop to take notes every time I notice a particularly well-written passage, but every time I do, I take another step up the mountain.
Urban Dictionary describes this as finding something interesting on the internet and then something else until you discover you wasted the whole day. In my example, "something else" is simply a deeper level of the same subject.