Anxiety about the pandemic is eating into our brain capacity and our ability to find joy where we once did. Instead, we are constantly on the lookout for harm.
For some reason when I try to read I find the narrative almost becomes part of my reality. I have to avoid nonfiction books, especially triggering ones. I wonder if this is because there's not the usual amount of holidays/evenings out and gatherings filling up my consciousness.
In the current environment, the idea that we should read adds to the pressure we put on ourselves to focus. Like trying to force a beach ball under the waves, the harder we push to concentrate, the more aggressively it bounces back and splashes us in the face.