Unless something goes weird in the last 23 days of 2021 before I can read four more books, I’ll have read 100 books this year for the first time ever. (Thank you audiobooks and two-hour round-trip commutes.)
We own hundreds of books, perhaps thousands, and I probably won’t get to read them all, but that’s OK. The world is so full and so vast — literally billions of souls wandering the place — that I could never experience all of it — and oh, what a ride it is. And so my acquiring books is my declaration that this one, this one, and this one — these — seem interesting enough that I grabbed them in hopes I might someday go beyond the blurb on the cover and read them.
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff And It’s All Small Stuff was out there for 20 years before I read it through this year, and I’m glad I finally did. I may not have another 20 years to wait to read these others, but it’s good to have them in case I do.
Some days I’m just overwhelmed by all I want to read and write and do before time expires — and will it have been enough? Maybe that part is not for me to say.
But I’m glad for one year at least that I was able to read as many as 100 books (declaring victory before crossing the finish line, I know, but the opportunity is there). Thank you, Mr. Gutenberg, for making it possible to share and preserve the works of countless souls and push humanity further than we had gone before.
