Last I wrote here, I shared my goal to read fifty books in 2018. I’m happy to report that I succeeded, while also admitting that it was kind of a sprint to the finish. I’ve been reflecting on what my reading meant to me, how it felt to read more consistently than I possibly ever have. What did I glean from those fifty books? Am I a more engaged reader and/or thinker because of them...
Despite my silence here, 2018, so far, has been one of my busiest reading years to date. The decision to read more was intentional, but other than setting a goal number of books to read for the year I put no other limits or expectations on myself. I also removed the pressure to write about what I was reading. I wanted to read for the sake of reading for pleasure and out of curiosity. Perhaps the...
Finding the right book at the right time is one of those rare gifts from the universe, much like finding forgotten chocolate in my desk drawer, or seeing a rainbow on an especially desultory day. Starting 2018 with Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine was one of those rare gifts, even doubly so in setting the tone for what I hope to be a year of plentiful literary wanderings...
I like new beginnings; I like the sense of hope and renewal that we typically tend to invoke this time of year in the form of new year resolutions. These new starts for me have historically involved the creation of grand ideas involving skills I do not possess, and which must be learned mastered before I can even really begin to conceive of the the goal I’ve loftily put in place for myself...
In my experiences with physical endeavors (running and yoga), the most important lesson I’ve learned over the years is that being able to plow through anything is not the ultimate sign of development or maturity, it’s knowing when to pull back. I’m not sure why I’ve been so hesitant to apply this truth to my reading life as well. There’s always a certain guilt, or...
Historically, I have had a tendency to be a serial reader. I’ll read something long and hard, then find myself uninspired to pick up anything else. Similarly, I’ll blow through a series of something (a particular author, a general theme that sends me down a self-defined rabbit hole) only to find myself crashing into a wall. I don’t know if this is good or bad. Perhaps it’s...
After a reading marathon over the holidays (as in Christmas, not April Fool’s Day), I have been in a bit, not a lot, of a reading slump. I tend to be a serial reader; I’ll take an author, series, genre, self-assigned thread, to the end of some imagined line and then I’ll hit a wall and need some time to recover. My brain shuts down for awhile, and nothing else can get in. I...
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