I think that’s what originally attracted me to reading, especially when I was young, and when excitement often meant getting to listen to “American Top 40” on the local AM radio station, which broadcast from an old house trailer on Route 11 where I grew up.

On Saturdays, my mother would tolerate the tinny music from our clock radio — sometimes — until forcing my sister and me to turn it off. Such a heartless mother! Imagine denying your kids the opportunity to hear 1978 Top 40 gems such as “I’m Your Boogie Man” by KC and the Sunshine Band, or “You Light Up My Life” by Debby Boone?

Then, and especially if it was raining, profound boredom would set in. My little sister and I might play Monopoly. But after she realized that, say, receiving a Get Out of Jail Free card in exchange for trading me the prized red property Illinois Avenue (which gave me a monopoly!) wasn’t in her best interest, and after the screaming had stopped, and after we’d picked up the pieces from the board she had overturned, boredom would again set in.

We lived in a rural area, and there wasn’t always much to do or high style to do it in. My high school graduation party, for example, was a kegger in Sweeter’s hayfield. Our sectional soccer championship was played on a field surrounded by corn ready for the October harvest, in a town called South Colton. South Colton is the hamlet where Sunday Rock still stands. The boulder is a large glacial erratic and is on the National Register of Historic Places. It marks the spot where in the frontier days there “was no law or no Sunday” in the Great South Woods beyond the rock. Today that region is known as the Adirondacks, a six-million-acre state park, roughly three times the size of Yellowstone.

The region is a place of many happy memories. It’s where I did a lot of summer reading and spent time outdoors. Today, it makes me happy to write about these memories: Clearly, if I couldn’t always have adventures, at least I could read about them!

I especially enjoyed stories that took me to exotic places and new landscapes. I read a lot of Graham Greene, even Hermann Hesse. I had good high school English teachers! I also liked Louis L’Amour. For a college English professor, admitting you once enthusiastically read Louis L’Amour novels is like a Michelin-starred chef getting caught eating a dollar menu in a fast-food parking lot. Or a working cowboy wearing flipflops on horseback. But I liked the predictable nature of the L’Amour plots and the Western settings. Just sayin’.

The fact is, it was stimulating to read about people’s experiences, whether through so-called “literary fiction” or popular fiction. For those of us at Weber State University who teach courses where students read imaginative texts, we know that reading makes students happy, even though much contemporary fiction can be emotionally exhausting.

Yet, even reading depressing texts can lead to happiness, perhaps, through the experience of schadenfreude. This is defined as “a feeling of pleasure or satisfaction when something bad happens to someone else.”

As I write this, I realize it may explain the small measure of glee I took back in the day, watching my sister trade away her chance of winning those Monopoly games. Until she would fling the board from the table, that is. Despite my decades-long guilt, I like writing about these treasured moments from the past.

Our students also love writing about their life experiences. Doing so helps them see aspects of their lives once hidden or forgotten. Many find joy here, because writing is a meaningful exercise in recovering the past. Those insights, positive or negative, become a part of them.

Happiness is in the news a lot these days. There are hundreds of books on the topic. Perhaps because we are experiencing an unhappiness epidemic? From “The New York Times” to “USA Today” to the TikTok universe, everyone seems to be concerned about happiness. We know about the little dopamine hits delivered by social media, and the larger but short-lived ones stemming from shopping or fast food.

But maybe with summer slowly arriving, take some time to read and ponder. Write and reflect. Send an actual pen-and-paper letter to a friend. You can’t lick an old-school stamp anymore, so you don’t have to worry about completely dating yourself.

But in writing about your life, past and present, you may find some happiness in the process of writing, one that will linger. And you may discover agreeable ideas and emotions that will find a permanent home within you.

Hal Crimmel is a Brady Presidential Distinguished Professor of English who served for nine years as chair of the English department at Weber State University. He currently serves as the academic director of Concurrent Enrollment. This commentary is provided through a partnership with Weber State. The views expressed by the author do not necessarily represent the institutional values or positions of the university.