I’ve come to the realization today about reading. It’s essentially useless for me to read books and stories at this point of my life. Books are there to expose you to new concepts and ideas, and to give you answers to those difficult questions. They give you an idea what what could exist out in the world. In early life, that’s fantastic. You might not have had the opportunity to learn and discover these things, so forming your own answers would be rather difficult. After you have a firm idea of what’s out there, and have an open mind and knowledge that new things exist in the world and you are are ready to face an accept them; then books aren’t as useful.
Being able to understand literature requires that you have some understanding and experience with the subject. I’m at the point where I probably won’t get that from another book. I feel like you reach this point of intellectual maturity when you have had enough experience that you can form your own answers, and are capable of understanding and accepting other people’s answers to those same questions. The experience given to me from books is almost pointless.
At this stage, I won’t be able to fully appreciate books, either. I haven’t had enough of my own experience to understand and appreciate a piece of literature in its fullest. I need to go out and have my own experiences. It feels pointless to sit around and derive all of my thoughts and ideas from experiences that other people wrote down. I seems like a waste rely on other people to feed me their experiences through books when I don’t have enough of an understanding from my own experiences to appreciate what the books could be teaching me. After I have lived my life, books will be so immensely appealing. But for now, there doesn’t seem to be much of a point other than to entertain.