The Delights of Serendipity

I’m a creature of habit. My predilections and penchants, masquerading as free will, corral my choices within invisible fences. I think I’m executing a volitional act, exercising self-determinative preference, when the antithetical truth is in fact reality. A proclivity to this or that insidiously denudes me of the free choice I hold so dear. Be it expectation, taste, disposition or assumption, sometimes I’m bridled by forces both invisible and recalcitrant. Magnetically attracted to that which I have historically enjoyed, on some level my choices are presented to my mind pre-filtered and bespoken before I’ve engaged anything deeper than inclination.

These silken bonds wrap themselves around my consciousness like tendrils, powerful but entirely unacknowledged. I’ve made a firm stance against such oppressive enemies, for they regain lost influence with pernicious alacrity. My bid for freedom from my habitual self takes the form of choosing not my preference, but my untried option. This practice is never more valuable than when applied to what I read!

Of course I gravitate to certain genres, authors and literary movements simply because I enjoy them. The vast majority of my reading pleasure is derived from engaging with material I’m highly likely to find satisfying. However, cognisant of my predispositions and well established literary habits, I determinedly and regularly break the chains that bind. Paradoxically, I make a habit of reading books that would never appear on my “must read” list, precisely because my habitual self would never put them on that list in the first place. Think of it as short-circuiting my selectorial process and eschewing a subconsciously predetermined and freedom restricting inclination.

Thankfully, many readers will not suffer from my malady and I envy them greatly! Unlike me, they are not at the mercy of their assumptions or quite as willing to stick to familiar literary roads. I’m well aware that a significant proportion, if not the majority of readers, frequently choose a book simply because it has grabbed their fancy. The difference between such lucky souls and myself is that their fancy is free. The crustacean of inclination and habit has not impaired their ability to choose spontaneously.

Picture the scene. A book shop, shelves groaning and all categorised appropriately. A normal unencumbered browser would probably investigate all the wondrous options available to them, much like a bee amongst brightly coloured flowers. The nectar they seek is everywhere and just waiting for their curious glance and eager fingers. I on the other hand head straight to the dusty old classics and plonk myself before their leather-clad spines, searching not for the unknown, but the familiar. Authors I fully expect to enjoy encountering attract my eyes, whereas those I do not know are merely stepping stones en route to assumed pleasures. Of these two enthusiastic individuals, who would you say has the greater range of choice and the highest probability of walking out with a serendipitous find? I won’t ask you which one you also consider to be rather odd!

So, recognising my inherent tendency to read what I think I will like, I metaphorically stuff wool into my ears and ignore the Sirens of habit. Choosing a work from a genre I have not experienced, or an author dealing with themes unlikely to resonate with my idiosyncratic interests or indeed tastes, allows me to step out of the confines of my habit-barred cell. Something magical often occurs. I discover myself actively enjoying something my knowing-self has told me to disregard. To be clear, I do not hunt down books sitting on the polar end of my usual spectrum. That would be reductive and futile. It’s more a case of encouraging myself to engage with books outside of my comfort zone.

Translating this philosophy into practice is child’s play, which is fortunate since it’s the presumptive adult in me I’m trying to overcome! I do not have the benefit of a scientific background, therefore from time to time I make a point of reading something from the popular-science genre. There are periods of history that do not catalyse my conscious interest. Again, I seek works out dealing with such epochs. Specific literary periods hold little allure for me and I rebel against such apathy by seeking out authors seminal to these moments. I regularly ensure that my ongoing reading stack contains one book at utter variance with the rest, chosen to overtly challenge my pre-conceptions. In short, I try to mix up my reading choice, pushing through the long grass of assumptions which limit those decisions.

The tangible benefit of this practiced autonomy is that of serendipitous delight. Having introduced a random dynamic to my decision-making process, books I would otherwise have failed to meet have entered my mind. Many of these unsolicited guests have proven to be frabjous surprises or at the very least, provocative and stimulating deviations from my usual paths. I’m aware that most readers regularly let the Muse of unfettered interest open them to infinite reading possibilities. However, for those of you perhaps suffering a similar proclivity towards their habitual norms, I heartily recommend taking a leaf out of my book. Invite that unknown guest to your reading chair and prepare to be pleasantly surprised. You may well have stumbled upon serendipity and She ironically has a habit of delighting us!