So I’ve started about forty different books this year that I eventually put down or drifted from for no reason whatsoever. There’s no tangible moment when I decided to put any of these down but it gets to two months later and I have seven books on the go and none are nearing the end. I get distracted a lot. Like by my own brain. So I’ll be reading this book and absolutely loving it but simultaneously I’m thinking about another book on my shelf that I’d love to pick up. Like right this second. So I do. I don’t have much self control. I tend to temporarily satisfy my immediate wants without taking the future in to consideration. I suppose you could say this about many aspects of my life, not just reading.
But it’s no good noticing something if you’re not going to do something about it. So I’m attempting to read Twelve Books of Christmas. Now, why do I set myself these ridiculous goals all the time? Cos it’s fun, and it makes life worth living. Wouldn’t it be better to set something more realistic, though? Why, so when I inevitably meet an easy goal I can give myself a pat on the back? I bet on myself. And I like my chances. So I’d rather challenge myself with a mad goal because if that outcome ever happens then it’ll be a surprise. It’ll be magic.
People like to look at their lives this time of the year and start to plan their next goals. I’m focusing on books. I’m mainly going for books I’ve started through the year and put down but throwing a few new ones in.
What are you gonna do?
Cringe (Stripped) – Matt Maeson