This year was the first time I’ve ever tried challenging myself to read twenty books. Sounds like an easy task right? I mean, people read a lot, people read thousands of titles per year. I thought I could do it and not even break a sweat. Why did I end up reading only ten (more or less)?

I can’t say I read a lot. I will, however, admit that I’m a very judgmental reader. I can judge a book by its cover (and I often do), I can read the description and decide whether it’s a go or not. And I classify books in several categories. There is a difference between genres, topics discussed and of course quality of a written word itself.
There are passion projects, there are books that are nothing but people’s healing through sharing there are stories we couldn’t wait to lay on paper, and then there are masterpieces. Those are just a few, and there is a big gap between a masterpiece, where every word is carefully handpicked, and a regular book. I could go deeper and try to explain why in my world these do not stand together, but I won’t. For some reason, I don’t find it important.

I was gonna talk about habits, and that’s what I’m going to do. I read on a bus, if a book is decent, it helps me to get from wherever I am to wherever I need to be. Unless it’s uber. I don’t feel comfortable reading in a taxi. There are a few occasions, when a story is so enchanting, I have to just sit down and read. But most of the time, there isn’t enough… right, time. I don’t do audiobooks, and I can’t listen to them while I work or study. So that leaves buses, occasional free minutes, and really lucky days.

When you’re done with the basics, classics, and all those books that define a genre or a pivotal moment in literature itself, you kinda get loose. You don’t read as much as you should, and I’ve learned that through this year’s challenge.

Now this sounds like an apology. It isn’t, There has to be something unique about a book for me to drop everything and get involved. And that’s the way it is, and that’s the way it should be, I guess.