I spent yesterday at the history museum, reading exhibit after exhibit, letting the words soak into my brain. At the end, I was exhausted, but edified—my brain thrives on the continuous snippets of words that a museum can offer. I could tell, though, that my reading comprehension was rapidly dwindling as the day progressed.

Today, I’ve opted not to read words, but to instead read objects. Specifically, I’ve spent it looking at furniture, wondering at how it’s constructed and considering what elements of style I’m attracted to or impressed by (those can be different things!).

Reading objects is as exhausting and as edifying as reading words, but exciting in that it’s a change of pace—so many of my hours (working and relaxing alike) are spent with words, so the chance to think in a different set of symbols is invigorating.

I’m sure, though, that there’s a similar curve when reading objects as when reading words, a slow decline in reading comprehension as the brain gets pushed to its limit. Details not noticed, patterns assumed even if not present, and so on.

In reading words, this can be disorienting—I’m missing something I’m meant to see! In objects, for some reason, this impacts me less, perhaps because there’s near infinite detail if one reads closely enough. (While the same can be said for pondering the deeper meaning of words, at least you can confidently say you’ve “read” each of the words on a given page.)

In all kinds of reading, I’ve been trying to make peace with something less than completeness—neither to pore endlessly over one object, nor to rush through it to the next. To accept the gift of the time spent, and whatever sinks in from that reading, before preparing myself for the next.

All the best for the week ahead,

Lucas