It’s easy to dismiss reading as an antiquated way to absorb information in an era of fifteen-second videos and hyper-condensed tweet threads. The argument goes: Why read a 300-page book when I can get the core ideas in a summary?
This fundamentally misunderstands what a book is. A book is not just a container for information. It is an architecture of thought.
Systems Over Summaries
When you read a summary, you get the output of someone else’s mental processing. You get the facts, the “takeaways,” the bullet points. But as a systems engineer, I know that knowing the output of a system doesn’t mean you understand the system itself.
Reading a book is the process of loading an author’s operating system into your own brain for a few hours.
Take Gödel, Escher, Bach by Douglas Hofstadter. You could summarize it in two sentences about recursive systems and consciousness. But doing so strips away the beautiful, intricate scaffolding Hofstadter builds to lead your brain to that realization. The process of navigating those pages is what actually rewires your thinking. You are not just downloading data; you are installing a new lens through which to view reality.
The Friction is the Point
Friction is often viewed as a negative in modern design. We want seamless, effortless experiences. But cognitive friction is where growth happens.
Reading is intentionally slow. It forces a deceleration. It demands that your inner monologue synchronize with the rhythm of the author’s prose.
In my pursuit of becoming stronger and more capable, I’ve realized that the struggle to comprehend a dense philosophical argument or a complex technical paradigm is the cognitive equivalent of lifting heavy weights. If it’s too easy, you aren’t growing.
Closing the Gap
I write often about “closing the gap” between who I am today and who I intend to be.
Books are the bridges across that gap.
Every time I read a perspective that challenges my own, I am stress-testing my personal constitution. Sometimes my beliefs break, and I have to rebuild them. Other times, they hold firm, but I understand why they hold firm with much greater clarity.
When you read widely—blurring the lines between computer science, history, fiction, and philosophy—you start to see the universal patterns. You realize that the same structural laws that govern distributed databases also govern human societies and ecological systems.
Where to Start?
You don’t need to start with impenetrable classics.
Read what fascinates you. If you like sci-fi, read Dune. If you like systems, read Thinking in Systems by Donella Meadows. If you want to explore the nature of quality, read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
The subject matter is secondary. The primary goal is simply to sit in a room, open a cover, and let another human being’s carefully constructed mental architecture shape yours.
In a world addicted to the quick fix, the slow, methodical act of reading is a radical act of self-construction.