The Direct Message
Tension: The funniest person in a friend group is often the one carrying the most unacknowledged pain, because their humor creates an illusion of resilience that prevents anyone from checking on them.
Noise: Society classifies humor as a ‘mature’ defense mechanism and celebrates those who wield it, conflating comedic skill with emotional well-being and rewarding the performance that keeps the real person invisible.
Direct Message: The joke was never about making people laugh — it was about making sure they stayed. And the only person who knows the difference between genuine resilience and skilled deflection is the one who can’t stop performing.
Every DMNews article follows The Direct Message methodology.
Last month, sitting in my doctor’s office, I watched her eyebrows rise as she reviewed my cognitive test results. “These scores,” she said, tapping the paper, “are typically what I see in healthy 50-year-olds. What’s your secret?”
I laughed. No fancy brain training apps. No expensive supplements. No crossword puzzle obsession.
“I argue with books,” I told her.
She looked puzzled, so I explained. Every book I read — and at 67, I’m averaging about 70 a year — gets the full debate treatment. I question the author’s assumptions. I write snarky comments in the margins. I have full-blown mental arguments with long-dead philosophers at 2 a.m.
It sounds a bit unhinged, I know. But this habit of mine, which started during my teaching days when I’d prep students to think critically about literature, might just be the reason my brain feels sharper now than it did a decade ago.
The brain craves intellectual friction
Most people read to relax. I read to wrestle.
When I pick up a book, whether it’s a biography or a self-help guide, I’m not looking for easy agreement. I’m hunting for ideas that make me uncomfortable, arguments that challenge my assumptions, perspectives that force me to defend my own beliefs.
This isn’t about being contrarian for the sake of it. It’s about keeping my brain in fighting shape. Think about it: when you passively absorb information, your brain coasts. But when you actively challenge what you’re reading? That’s when the magic happens.
I keep a reading journal where I note not just quotes I love, but also the ones that irritate me. Sometimes I’ll spend 20 minutes writing a rebuttal to something an author claimed on page 47. My husband thinks I’m arguing with ghosts. Maybe I am. But these ghosts are keeping my neurons firing.
As Hollie Hristov, FNP, a Preventive Neurology specialist, explains: “Learning new things and cognitive stimulation on a consistent basis is a way to improve neuroplasticity, or the brain’s ability to generate new neural connections over time.”
That’s exactly what happens when you argue with a book. You’re not just reading; you’re creating new neural pathways by actively processing, questioning, and reformulating ideas.
Why passive reading isn’t enough
Here’s what I’ve noticed about how most people read: they treat books like television shows. They consume the content, maybe highlight a few passages, then move on to the next one.
But reading without engagement is like going to the gym and watching other people exercise. You might feel virtuous, but you’re not building any muscle.
When I taught high school English, I’d watch students memorize plot points and character names, thinking that was enough. But the kids who really thrived were the ones who asked, “Why did the author make that choice?” or “What if the character had done something different?”
Those students weren’t just reading. They were thinking.
Now, with my nightstand perpetually stacked with three books in progress — usually fiction, nonfiction, and something for research — I apply that same principle. Each book gets the full interrogation treatment. Why did the historian interpret that event that way? What evidence is the self-help guru conveniently ignoring? How would this novelist’s story change if told from another character’s perspective?
This mental sparring keeps my brain flexible and alert. It’s like CrossFit for cognition, without the risk of throwing out your back.
Rereading as revelation (not repetition)
People often ask why I reread books I’ve already taught dozens of times. Won’t I get bored?
Never. Because I’m not the same person who read that book last year, or five years ago, or when I first taught it in 1988.
Every time I revisit Steinbeck or Morrison or Thoreau, I bring a different perspective. Life experiences have shifted my lens. Current events color my interpretation. And most importantly, I’m ready to argue about different things.
The book hasn’t changed, but my capacity to wrestle with it has evolved. What seemed profound at 35 might seem simplistic at 67. What I dismissed as irrelevant in my teaching days suddenly resonates in retirement.
Building your own book-arguing practice
You don’t need to read 70 books a year to get these benefits. You just need to change how you approach the books you do read.
Start small. Pick one paragraph that makes a strong claim and write a one-page response. Agree or disagree, but explain why. Use evidence from your own life or other books you’ve read.
Question the author’s credentials. What qualifies them to make these assertions? What might their blind spots be?
Look for what’s missing. Every book leaves something out. What perspectives aren’t represented? What counterarguments does the author conveniently skip?
Have imaginary debates. Yes, it sounds odd, but defending your position out loud (even to your cat) forces you to organize your thoughts more clearly than just mulling them over.
Compare contradicting sources. When two books disagree, don’t just pick a side. Figure out why they disagree and what assumptions each author is making.
Ryan McGrath, CEO and President of Asset Living, captured it perfectly: “Curiosity is the fuel that propels individuals to seek out new information, skills and perspectives.”
And curiosity without challenge is just entertainment.
The unexpected social benefits
Here’s something I didn’t anticipate: arguing with books has made me a better conversationalist.
When friends bring up topics at dinner parties or book club meetings, I have genuine thoughts to contribute. Not just “I liked it” or “It was interesting,” but actual positions I can articulate and defend.
This intellectual engagement has kept me connected to people across generations. I can discuss contemporary fiction with my grandkids and philosophy with retired professors. The mental agility I’ve developed through book arguments translates into real-world discussions.
Plus, there’s something liberating about disagreeing with published authors. If I can argue with someone who got a book deal, surely I can voice my opinion in everyday conversations without fear.
Making peace with intellectual discomfort
The hardest part about arguing with books? Sometimes you lose.
Sometimes an author presents evidence that completely dismantles your worldview. Sometimes you realize you’ve been wrong about something fundamental for decades.
That’s uncomfortable. But it’s also growth.
My mother used to say the library card was the most important card a person could carry. She was right, but not just because it gave us access to books. It gave us access to challenges, to different ways of thinking, to intellectual sparring partners who could keep our minds sharp long after our bodies started creaking.
As I mentioned in a previous post on DMNews, retirement isn’t about slowing down mentally — it’s about finally having time to speed up in the ways that matter to you.
Your turn to pick a fight
So here’s my challenge to you: Pick up the next book on your list and read it like you’re preparing for debate club. Question everything. Write in the margins. Argue out loud.
Your brain will thank you for it. Mine certainly has.
What book are you ready to argue with today? And more importantly, what long-held belief are you brave enough to let it challenge?
