Focus

I love completely losing myself in a book. My ears might as well fall off from how little around me I process, and my eyes blur out anything beyond the rectangle in the forefront of my vision. Finally putting the book down often feels like waking up from a dream, reality slowly eroding the world I constructed.

When I do come to, I frequently find myself completely upside down with my head on the ground, or with a bright pink fist-imprint on my cheek. Not the most graceful of positions. My first few steps afterwards are always halting as blood flows back into my limbs, and tend to be towards the vicinity of the nearest restroom to relieve my smothered base urges.

This has almost become a measuring stick for me. When I wake with an especially painful crick in my back I know that it must be a truly excellent book. And it makes me that much more excited to jump back in later. Unlike most metrics, it isn’t something that I can force at all. Conciously making myself uncomfortable to try and enjoy a book more spews me out of the pages and back into reality faster than anything.

Knowing that I truly earned it each time is super gratifying. I don’t think its possible to do for everything- after all, Goodhart’s law exists for a reason. But my reading contortions also proves that it is not a universal goal. And such exceptions where short term pain leads to long term benefits seem far more rewarding than being stuck in a hamster ball endlessly pursuing the next small thrill.