I’ve never really been a believer in New Year’s resolutions. Perhaps because, over the years, I’ve noticed how quietly they tend to collapse somewhere around mid-February. Still, the beginning of a new year makes me pause, not to promise, but to notice..
If someone asked me how I read, the answer would be simple: without order. I often have two or three books open at the same time, depending on my mood and the weight of the day. Sometimes I’m drawn in by something I’ve seen advertised, a conversation, a casual recommendation. If a story has become a series or a film, I usually want to meet it first as a book, not out of stubbornness, but curiosity. Mostly, I read for pleasure..
And yet, there are moments when guilt creeps in. There are chores waiting, responsibilities calling. Reading can feel.. secondary. Still, it’s a pleasure I refuse to spoil. A small, personal luxury that keeps me grounded..
Last year, my reading didn’t go well. There were difficulties, personal struggles. On one hand, books were a refuge. On the other, I couldn’t focus on anything new. So I returned to what I already knew. Classic authors. Familiar stories. Books that didn’t demand effort, only presence..
I’ve experienced reading slumps, too. They’re strange and draining. You want to read, but something holds you back. Often it isn’t laziness. It’s life moving too fast, a mind too full, no space left to sink into a story. Sometimes it’s simply boredom, rereading the same pages without connection..
I read slowly. I like to feel the words. Sometimes I whisper sentences aloud. Speed doesn’t interest me, understanding does.
When interest fades, recommendations help. Audiobooks, too, especially during commutes, on trains, in moments that would otherwise be lost. For many people, listening is the only way reading fits into life.
I haven’t yet joined a book club, but slow reading groups intrigue me. The idea that others read the same text so differently, that there’s no right interpretation, feels comforting. Maybe one day..
I remember standing in a bookshop recently, holding two or three books, unable to choose. Influenced by cinema, I picked one that I later learned had been adapted into a film.. Other times, I’m drawn to discounted older editions. I love old books, their weight, their history.
Somewhere along the way, I learned this: when you can’t read, don’t force yourself to start something new. Return to what you already know. Reading is like a second self, it doesn’t always need effort, only trust.
Perhaps all we need to write on a list is this: read five pages.
Not fifty. Not a chapter. Five pages.
For everything else, sleep, exercise, self-care, advice is abundant. Reading is rarely spoken of this way. And yet, it isn’t solitary. When it’s shared, when it’s slow, when it’s allowed.
That’s what I want to keep.
No resolutions.
Just space.
Tatiana,
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