As we approach the holidays and things begin to slow down a bit. I would implore us to consider how much time we spend in purposeful thought and focus. Reading is a medium that allows us to do so. We talk a lot about learning, but far less about reading.
That should give us pause.
We live in an age of constant consumption. Our days are filled with scrolling—endless feeds, rapid takes, headlines without context, opinions without depth. Information moves faster than ever, yet understanding feels increasingly scarce. We seem to have become less thoughtful and, dare I say, less smart. We are exposed to more content in a single day than previous generations encountered in weeks, but much of it is designed to be skimmed, not studied; reacted to, not reflected upon.
Scrolling rewards speed. Reading requires intention.
This matters because how we consume information shapes how we think. When our primary mode of engagement is scrolling, we become accustomed to fragments—half-ideas, partial truths, and narratives stripped of nuance. Reading, by contrast, asks us to stay. It requires us to follow an argument from beginning to end, to sit with uncertainty, to trace cause and consequence. It builds the mental stamina that thoughtful citizenship, leadership, and learning demand.
Reading slows us down in a world obsessed with immediacy. It forces us to learn patience and to not concede our lives to the intrusion of immediate gratification. Where feeds are engineered to keep us moving, books invite us to linger. Where scrolling often confirms what we already believe, reading challenges us to confront what we don’t yet understand. It is not accidental that sustained reading strengthens focus, empathy, and critical thinking—capacities that feel increasingly under threat.
When we read, we travel. We step into lives we have never lived, cultures we may never visit, and histories we were never taught or were taught incompletely. A book can place us in a different century, a different country, or inside the mind of someone whose experiences unsettle our assumptions. Scrolling shows us snapshots; reading offers context. One flattens complexity, the other reveals it.
More importantly, reading feeds curiosity. It sparks questions rather than silencing them. A meaningful book does not rush us toward answers; it invites us to wrestle with ideas. It encourages us to ask why, how, and who benefits. In contrast, much of what we scroll past is designed to simplify, polarize, or provoke reaction rather than reflection.
That ability to question is not optional.
In a time when misinformation spreads easily and certainty is often louder than wisdom, reading teaches us to pause before we accept. It reminds us that knowledge is constructed—through evidence, dialogue, and lived experience—not simply declared. Readers learn to hold multiple truths at once, to recognize bias (including their own), and to revise their thinking when new information demands it.
This is why reading matters far beyond literacy scores or academic benchmarks. Reading develops discernment. It strengthens empathy. It cultivates the habits of mind necessary for democracy, leadership, and meaningful participation in a pluralistic society. A person who reads deeply is better equipped to resist manipulation, challenge injustice, and engage thoughtfully with ideas that differ from their own.
And yet, too often, we treat reading as expendable.
In schools, it is crowded out by test preparation and pacing guides. In homes, it competes with screens that never turn off. In adult life, it is postponed until “things slow down,” even though they rarely do. We assign excerpts instead of whole texts. We value coverage over comprehension. We forget that reading is not merely preparation for life—it is part of living well.
If we are serious about developing thoughtful, curious, and engaged humans, we must be more intentional about reclaiming reading. We must protect time for it, model it visibly, and speak about it as essential rather than nostalgic. Reading should not be positioned as an alternative to modern life, but as a necessary counterbalance to it.
Because reading doesn’t just inform us.
It forms us.
It reminds us that the world is larger than our feed, that ideas deserve examination, and that understanding requires effort. And in a culture that increasingly encourages us to scroll rather than think, choosing to read is not old-fashioned.
It is a deliberate, hopeful, and necessary act. My hope is that we consider this as we move to create a 2026 that is much brighter than 2025.
I am excited to share something extra special with you in the coming weeks!
