Let me start with a clarification: I haven’t abandoned the ability to read. Far from it. What I’ve walked away from is the practice of reading as a primary tool for learning, entertainment, and escape. For years, books, articles, and written texts were my go-to—until I realized they no longer align with how my brain works, how I absorb information, or how the world is evolving.
This decision didn’t come lightly. It’s rooted in four core observations that shifted my relationship with written language entirely. Let’s break them down.
First, let’s separate the skill from the habit. I still believe being able to read is non-negotiable—at least for now. There are countless scenarios where decoding text is the fastest, most efficient way to get what you need. Think about scanning a data table in a work report: a quick glance at labels, percentages, and headings lets you grasp trends in seconds, faster than any audio explanation. Or navigating a new city: reading street signs, menu items, or safety instructions on a piece of equipment—these are moments where literacy acts as a shortcut. Even in digital spaces, skimming a social media post or an email subject line cuts through noise to deliver key information instantly.
The ability to read is a tool for speed in specific contexts. But that doesn’t mean reading—sitting down with a book or long-form text to learn, reflect, or unwind—is the best use of that tool anymore. For me, it’s become a less effective means to an end.
I’m convinced the next era of information and entertainment will be defined by interactivity—not static text. When I want to be entertained, I don’t want a one-size-fits-all movie or show. I want something tailored to my exact mood, preferences, and even current interests. Imagine telling an AI: “I want a dinosaur movie starring Zendaya and Pedro Pascal, with the whimsy of Jurassic Park but the emotional depth of The Last of Us.” Seconds later, you’re watching a real-time generated film that checks every box—no scrolling through streaming libraries, no settling for “close enough.”
Learning will work the same way. If I want to understand a physics theory—say, quantum entanglement—I don’t want to wade through dense paragraphs of jargon. I want an AI to generate a 3D hologram or an animated explainer that shows the particles interacting, walks me through experiments, and adapts to my pace when I ask questions. Text is linear, slow, and requires me to translate words into mental images. Animations, videos, and interactive simulations skip that middle step—they show instead of telling, making complex ideas stick faster.
This isn’t science fiction. AI-generated content, interactive learning platforms, and personalized media are already here. It’s only a matter of time before they replace text as the default for how we acquire knowledge and engage with stories. Why cling to a slower, less immersive method when something better is emerging?
A common pushback I get is: “Reading makes you smarter—it triggers deep thinking.” I don’t buy it. Deep thinking is a skill, not a side effect of turning pages. There are endless ways to cultivate it: hiking in nature and reflecting on life’s questions, meditating to quiet the noise and focus on ideas, having long, meandering conversations with people who challenge your perspectives. Reading is one path, but it’s far from the only one.
History backs this up. Long before written language became widespread, human civilizations thrived on oral tradition. Philosophers like Socrates never wrote a single book—his ideas were passed down through dialogues and speeches, preserved by his students. Poets and storytellers in ancient cultures (from the Greek bards reciting the Iliad to the oral poets of Indigenous communities worldwide) crafted profound, enduring works without putting pen to paper. These weren’t “less intelligent” or “less thoughtful” people—they were some of the greatest minds in history, and they did it all through speech, observation, and reflection.
Reading doesn’t have a monopoly on critical thinking. It’s just a tradition we’ve grown accustomed to. Break free from that tradition, and you’ll find there are far more dynamic ways to engage with ideas.
Finally, I’ve come to realize that whatever benefits I once got from reading—access to human wisdom, escape from reality, intellectual stimulation—I can get better elsewhere. Books used to be the primary gateway to the thoughts and experiences of people across time and space, but now AI can distill the wisdom of a thousand books into a concise, personalized conversation. Want to learn from Aristotle? Ask an AI to explain his ethics in plain language, tailored to your life. Want to escape? Dive into a VR experience or an interactive story that lets you shape the narrative—far more immersive than any novel.
Worse, reading has caused real harm in my life—specifically, in my journey to learn English. As a Chinese speaker, I learned English through reading first: memorizing spellings, dissecting grammar rules, poring over textbooks. This created a disconnect between the written word and the spoken language. I became so attached to the “correct” spelling or structure of a sentence that I froze up when speaking—afraid of mispronouncing a word or making a grammatical mistake. I bonded text to ideas, not sound to ideas, which made conversing feel forced and unnatural.
Native English speakers learn differently: they absorb oral language first, then learn to read and write. That’s why a native speaker can speak fluently even if they can’t spell every word. For non-native speakers like me, though, prioritizing reading often becomes a barrier. I’ve met countless Chinese English learners who can read complex articles but struggle to hold a simple conversation. I firmly believe many of us would speak better, more confidently if we stopped focusing on reading and started focusing on listening and speaking instead.
Quitting Reading Isn’t Anti-Knowledge—It’s Pro-Growth
Quitting reading hasn’t made me less curious or less committed to learning. If anything, it’s made me more intentional about how I seek knowledge and engage with the world. I’m not against books or written text—they have their place. But for me, they’re no longer the best tool for the job.
In an age where AI can generate personalized, interactive content on demand, where oral learning and visual storytelling are more accessible than ever, clinging to reading as a default feels like using a flip phone in the age of smartphones. It works, but it’s not the most efficient or fulfilling option.
So I’m letting go. I’m embracing a future where learning is visual, entertainment is personalized, and deep thinking happens through experience, not just words on a page. And so far? It’s been liberating.
If you’re someone who loves reading, that’s wonderful—keep doing what works for you. But if you’ve ever felt frustrated by how slow or disconnected reading feels, or if it’s holding you back in areas like language learning, know this: there’s another way. The ability to read is a gift, but it’s not a requirement for growth, wisdom, or joy.
Here’s to leaving old habits behind and embracing a more dynamic, interactive way of engaging with the world.
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