Rhoneisms

I recently came to the end of my ten year relationship with my beloved Nissan Versa. Easily, the best car I’d ever owned in the time I had it. When I decided to buy it brand new I said to myself, “This is a 10 year car”. I had done a lot of research on various makes/models in its class. Though, it was a brand new issue from Nissan at the time, I knew exactly what to expect from it. It was a great 10 years.

It took us on several long road trips. New Orleans, twice. Through a torrential downpour on our way to upstate New York and Boston. Winding and twisting along the Blue Ridge Parkway returning from Asheville, NC — certainly the most beautiful drive I’ve ever been on.

It was dark blue and I often referred to it as “The Tardis” because for a small car it had an amazing amount of interior room. Every Christmas season, I would fit a 10’4“ tree inside and shut the back hatch. This to the amazement of every person at the place we get our tree. A 6’4” tall friend of mine could sit in the back, behind the drivers seat, comfortably. It was like magic.

For several months, I’d been looking for a new Nissan Versa to replace it. So, attached I was to the car. But, then, my wife found someone selling a 2006 Volvo v50 for a good price in great condition and very low miles for its age (91k)…

I could write a couple hundred words on it too. It, too, is a good car.

I’ve always been a slow reader. With non-fiction books, especially so. I’ve always carried an element of shame over my lack of speed and the desire to be faster at it with me. For a very long time it’s been an uncomfortable shoe-pebble nagging me every time I pick up a book. In some cases, it has flat-out stopped me from even attempting to read some books. I’ll look at the size of them and think, "My gosh, that would take me years to get through!"

Further, this stands in sharp contrast to my wife. She’s an extremely fast reader, especially with fiction. I’ve seen her get through a 300 page book in a couple of hours. She averages well over a hundred books a year. I’ve often found myself quite jealous of her gift and the difference further highlights my inability and frustration.

So, in an effort to be more gentle with myself I’ve come to embrace my reading as a part of my practice. I call it Mindful Reading (more slowly — the opposite of speed reading). The idea that my lack of speed actually allows me to be more present with each word and idea. That, to feel shame and desire around this is causing needless self-suffering when self-kindness and permission are called for instead. So, if I read fewer books or it takes me longer to get through one it might mean that I simply was more present with the books I read. Mindful Reading is OK.

At least it makes me feel better.