Advantages and Disadvantages of Browsing Internet Vs Reading

Hours spent reading books in the by calendar month: twenty
Hours spent reading on the internet in the past month: 120

These are troubling personal statistics from a former voracious book fiend. I taught myself to read at age four. I read Judy Blume'due south entire drove of books in one month when I was 7. Every bit a teenager, I heard my father say countless times, "There's Ang, with her nose stuck in a book again". Books accept been my solace, my escape, my source of wisdom, and my fiercest passion throughout college and a few years across.

And then came the internetz.

The realization of information technology'south power dawned on me slowly. So, annihilation I want to know tin can exist uncovered in seconds via a search engine? And…I tin can connect with strangers halfway around the earth? You mean, I can blazon a few sentences and voila, my words are immortalized for the entire planet to see? Really--all this for a dial-up phone connectedness and $29.99 a calendar month? For a person who loves sharing and acquiring noesis, this was surely the greatest invention of all fourth dimension.

Then I got a laptop. The internet, in bed!
So I got high-speed modem. The internet, in triple time!
And then I got a better laptop. The internet, light-weight with longer battery life!
And then I got wireless access. The internet, in my kitchen, on my balcony, past my pool!
Then I got an even better laptop. Dual processor, 17 inch screen, built-in webcam!
Then I got a MacBook. 'Nuff said.
Then I got an iTouch. The internet, in my pocket! I tremble at the thought.

And now in 2009 I must reluctantly conclude that going online has replaced reading a volume as my favorite past fourth dimension.

It isn't hard to understand why but the rare volume can still capture my interest for prolonged periods. The computer keeps getting faster and more than powerful, and is near unlimited in its ability to provide up-to-the-minute information. The volume is nearly the same as information technology was thousands of years agone. The book has gone essentially unchanged.

But I haven't.

I want to collaborate with text, and books frustrate me in that regard. When I read a controversial self-help book, I want to click on 'comments' to see how others responded. When I read a really compelling (or actually weak) novel, I badly want to visit Amazon to meet how well it's selling and read other people's reviews. Even when I read the Bible, that ageless archetype text, I find myself wanting to click on 'prove alternate translation' to meet how the phrase reads in the original linguistic communication or in a loosely-interpreted version, and I'thou compelled to compare how classic commentators and gimmicky thinkers reflect on scriptural truths.

I want to follow embedded links, see related posts, and access recommended reading immediately. I want to observe the origin of an idiom. I want to Google unfamiliar cultural references. I want to search for other authors who take written on the same topic and gain their perspectives.

Put together, these instincts contain the quintessential picture of a good reader. I'thou making text connections, summarizing, comparing and contrasting, utilizing research and reference tools, analyzing charts and graphs and maps. I'm an enthusiastic, purposeful reader who takes charge of her learning.

So what's the problem? Clearly the issue is not that I've stopped reading. Nor am I concerned that I'1000 wasting my fourth dimension surfing from one meaningless website or pointless online game to some other. I don't employ social media at all (the brazenness of refusing to bring together Facebook or MySpace!). My time on the computer is spent either writing (this blog, my other blog, my website, and email) or it's spent reading…and each action fuels and inspires the next. Information technology's an integrated and intuitive procedure that I've been following–and simultaneously denying–for years.

Most of the online text I eat is high-quality, well-written nonfiction. I subscribe to over 200 blogs in my Google Reader and empty most of the folders daily. That'due south at least 90 minutes a day of reading virtually what's new in education and world events, and 30 minutes of reading about spirituality, fashion, celeb news, and random humour on blogs that are exceptionally well-equanimous and inspiring to me as a writer. These blogs (even the shallow ones), accompanied by a diverseness of websites and my numerous daily Google searches, lead me to all sorts of new data that challenge the mode I perceive myself and the world effectually me.

I'k reading carefully chosen content that satisfies me and enriches my life. So why, instead of feeling well-informed, practise I lament losing my passion for books? Why do I feel as though the internet offers a cheapened version of knowledge, the Wal-Mart of intellectualism?

I'm not the but one. Sarah at The Reading Zone has an excellent mail most how students don't count the internet (along with magazines and other authentic texts) as 'real reading'. Just like me, the kids accept convinced themselves that they are just improving their reading skills and experiencing real learning when it comes from books. Later on all, y'all READ a book. You Become ON the internet. You SURF the internet. Surfing is non reading. The Net is the laid-back, less administrative version of its more respectable cousin, Existent Literature.

Those nagging feelings of dubiousness about the validity of reading online compete fiercely with the part of me which enjoys it and then deeply. I hear an undeniable internal voice that demands an answer: Who says that someone's writing is inherently more valuable just because it'south in a volume?

I suppose I know at that place is no substitute for the artful weaving of a lengthy narrative or the depth of information that a book can offer. (If in that location was, I never would have published one myself.) And there is no substitute for the feeling of a existent book in my hands as I settle in on a long flying, or bury myself nether the covers after a stressful day. And then I continue to fall into old habits, checking out innumerable books from the library and renewing them to their max as they pile upwards on my nightstand only partially read. I await over at the stack longingly and guiltily, remembering the days when I would devour the pile in a matter of hours. And I force myself to read them.

But possibly I wouldn't have to force myself to read books if I stopped requiring myself to read the way I did when I was younger: curled upwardly in a cozy chair, totally absorbed in the text.

Maybe I would enjoy books more if I allowed myself to read in a mode that makes sense to me now: sprawled on the daybed with my MacBook opened beside me, poised to research at whatever moment.

Maybe reading books wouldn't feel like a chore if I gave myself permission to take a month to read a volume that I am capable of finishing in a day.

Maybe I'd be more excited if my goal wasn't to become through the whole book so I could go on to the next one, and it was to instead merely feel the book.

Maybe if I gave myself permission to read a book and the internet together, I would solve both of my bug: I would value the information on the internet more highly and I would regain my enthusiasm for the sometime-fashioned volume.

I'1000 tired of feeling guilty for beingness on the cyberspace also much and neglecting my books. The world has changed and I accept, likewise. This is my manifesto of maybes, and information technology's where I stand for now. Tonight I'm going to make myself a loving cup of tea and curl upward with a good book and my laptop. Probably with some chocolate, besides (I can eat with the left hand and curlicue with the correct). I think that's the way it's supposed to be, for me. And I'grand going to keep doing it that way until I truly give myself permission to just enjoy READING, in any format that interests me.

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Source: https://truthforteachers.com/internet-vs-real-reading/

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